


Lû Vinui

by Orchyd Constyne (slarmstrong)



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-11
Updated: 2015-02-12
Packaged: 2018-03-11 22:43:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 37,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3335522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slarmstrong/pseuds/Orchyd%20Constyne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lothvaen joins the staff of the House of Elrond in the newly founded valley of Imladris and finds the Chief Councilor to be a challenge worth accepting. Thranduil meets the Balrog-slayer when the Seneschal is sent to Greenwood to aid Oropher and the attraction is instant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Lothvaen is a Sindarin name I have given to the fanon character 'Figwit.' 'Figwit' is not an appropriate name for an Elf and the name 'Melpomaen' (a common used name for this fanon character) is an incorrect translation of the name 'Figwit.' 'Lothvaen' means 'skillful flower' since 'skillful' is another word for 'wit' (Sindarin does not have a word for 'wit') and 'flower' is used in place of 'fig' (since Sindarin does not have a word for 'fig'). A fig is actually a flower, which is why I chose 'flower' for the name.

Imladris, Ethuil - 1718 of the Second Age

Erestor looked over the correspondence from Oropher's realm. It seemed the temperamental King of Greenwood was throwing another tantrum about how Gil-galad had slighted him in some way... Erestor was not sure. He could not understand where Oropher pulled these accusations from. The High King never spoke of the Greenwood King. In fact, this was the first true moment of peace the Elves this side of the Misty Mountains had been able to enjoy. Erestor put the letter to the side and looked out on the vast valley that sprawled just outside the windows of his office.

His view also showed him that there was a large delegation coming in the main gates. The banners flown were those of Lindon, and Erestor wondered why so many from the seaside city had come to Elrond. He watched as Elrond and Glorfindel appeared to welcome the group, with Celeborn and Galadriel standing quietly behind them. Erestor was sure Celebrian was floating around the house somewhere, but she strongly disliked meeting guests.

The Chief Councilor smiled to himself. He knew his Lord was quite smitten with the silver-haired She-Elf and wondered how long they would wait before announcing an engagement. He could not think of a more suitable Lady for his Lord and knew they would make a wonderful match. Erestor noticed Glorfindel calling Lindir close to him and speak to him, motioning in Erestor's direction. Lindir nodded and began to lead about a dozen Elves through the courtyard toward Erestor's office.

Lindir shuffled into the room. He was still intimidated by the Noldo, knowing from the gossip about the Last Homely House that Erestor was a very distinguished Lord. The Councilor had dwelled in Himring during the First Age; the piercing dark eyes that regarded him now had once regarded Maedhros. He cleared his throat and averted his eyes. "My Lord Erestor, Lord Elrond wanted me to escort these Elves to you. He said they are from the High King's court and will be welcomed into the household's employ. Lord Elrond defers to your judgment wherein each will do their best for Imladris."

Erestor nodded, and Lindir stepped aside. He would escort the group to their quarters once Erestor had assigned them positions within the house. Each would be given chambers befitting their station and status. The Councilor caught the attention of each Elf before him and measured them up. "I am Lord Erestor, Lord Elrond's Chief Councilor, and I maintain the mundane aspects of the household. You will be quartered in the main house, and you may take meals alone in your rooms or in the main hall at the designated times. You will also be given four sets of formal robes to be worn during the workday. You will be issued a small stipend once a week. We do not pay a large sum since all your needs will be met while in the employment of Lord Elrond. There is always room for advancement and you will find me to be a strict, but fair, taskmaster. Are there any questions?" When no one spoke up, Erestor nodded and moved to sit behind one of the empty desks in the library.

The dark-haired Elf pulled out some parchment and dipped a quill into some ink. He waved the first Elf to him. "What is your name and your occupation?" The young She-Elf looked at her feet and mumbled something Erestor could barely make out. "Speak up, iell," he said sharply. It was one thing for Elrond to want him to set these Elves to their tasks, but holding the hand of a shy Elf-maid was not what the cool Noldo needed when he had so much to do this day.

"Haradiel, my Lord," she said in a stronger voice. Erestor nodded and in his perfect, flowing script he placed her name on the parchment. With his hand poised next to her name, he waited impatiently for her To tell him what it was she could do in a house. He finally had to look up at her with narrowed, annoyed eyes. "Oh! I was the High King's chambermaid."

"Then you will take up with the domestic staff. Are you able to launder linens?"

"Aye, my Lord."

"Then I will place you under Bellbeneth's supervision. She is the head laundress in the house. You will report to her in two days' time, one hour before sun rise, is that clear?" When she nodded he wrote down her new station and her pay. "Lindir, have someone see her to the White Hall and put her in the room with the other morning laundress." Lindir nodded, pulled the Elf with him, and handed her off to one of the passing pages, telling him where to take her.

That was how the next hour passed for the Councilor. When he came to the last Elf, his page was almost full. He looked to Lindir. "Fourteen new arrivals." He was ignoring the mousy Elf shifting on his feet uncomfortably before him.

"Most to the domestic staff."

"Aye," Erestor said, reviewing his list once again. "But, I now have a Head Librarian and two Archivists. That will make things easier. I will no longer have to spend every other day with the Scribes." He dipped his quill into the ink once again and addressed the young Elf in front of him.

"Your name and skill?"

The Elf looked down at the cold gaze that seemed to see into his soul. He had never met another Elf so unwelcoming or as elegant as Lord Erestor. He had seen the tall, slender Councilor many times at the High King's court and had always held a silent respect and sense of awe for the Elf-lord. When Erestor lifted an exquisite eyebrow in expectation at him, he cleared his throat. "Lothvaen, my Lord. I was Lord Tirnion's personal secretary."

Erestor nodded, added the name and position to the roster, and then thought for a moment. "I am not sure that any of the staff need a secretary. Lord Elrond has Lindir. Lord Glorfindel has Lúthwen. Lord Celeborn has Haldir, and the Lady Galadriel also has a personal maid-servant." He ran through his mind, ticking off each Lord and Lady who could possibly need a secretary, but could find no one whom had put in with him that they needed one. "Perhaps we can demote you to a Scribe or Archivist until a position opens up?"

Lindir cleared his throat and flushed slightly when both Elves looked toward him. "If I may, my Lord?"

"Yes, Lindir?" he asked.

"It comes to my mind that you have no personal assistant."

Erestor chuckled, the mirth not reaching his eyes. "No, Lindir. I do not. That is because I am not in need of one."

"Of course you are!" came the over-exuberant exclamation from the doorway. Erestor glared at the golden-haired Elda.

"Glorfindel, keep to the barracks and the patrol roster. I know what is needed and not needed within the ranks of the Last Homely House." Erestor was about to assign the young Elf to the new Head Librarian as an Archivist, but Glorfindel stayed his hand.

"It is unfair to demote someone because you are too proud to take him into your employment. You do need a secretary, Erestor. I think it would do you a world of good." Glorfindel smiled broadly, his deep blue eyes twinkling with amusement as he leaned in and said loud enough for Lothvaen to hear, "He's also quite attractive. Perhaps he could melt that cold heart of yours and make life for Elrond and I slightly more bearable!"

Erestor's eyes moved between Glorfindel's laughing face and the averted eyes of the new Elf as he tried desperately not to show he heard the Elda's words. Erestor glowered at Glorfindel. "You are out of line, Seneschal."

Glorfindel was not deterred. "I am always out of line, Councilor."

"If I make him my secretary, will you leave me in peace and pester Elrond?"

"Aye, Erestor. I will remove myself from your heart-warming presence."

"Very well." He turned to Lothvaen. "You will be my personal assistant. Report to me tomorrow morning here and I will show you my office. You will be paid six silver pieces a week and be housed in the Steward Hall with the other secretaries and assistants. I will have Lindir bring you robes this afternoon."

Lothvaen nodded, thrilled he would not be demoted. The six silver pieces was a lower pay than he had received in Lindon, but he had been responsible for his own clothing, food, and supplies. "Thank you, my Lord."

"Lindir, show him to the room beside Lúthwen's. It should be fresh and have everything Lothvaen will need." Lindir nodded and signaled for Lothvaen to join him in the hall. Glorfindel followed them out, heading to his office, still chuckling to himself.

Erestor replaced the quill and ink, sighing and rubbing his temples. Glorfindel had been a thorn in his side for centuries uncounted. And now he was stuck with a secretary he did not need or want. He sighed and took the roster back into his office, opening the household books and preparing to add the new members of the staff.

*****

Lothvaen quietly followed Lindir, observing the white-haired Elf from the corner of his eye. For a secretary, the Elf held a certain amount of dignity that Lothvaen had rarely seen in domestic staff. Lindir smiled slightly and Lothvaen realized that he had been caught staring.

"Is there anything you wish to know, Lothvaen?" Lindir gripped his hands behind his back and regarded the other Elf with interest.

Lothvaen cleared his throat. "When are meals served?"

"From dawn until nine, eleven until one and the evening meal is served promptly at six. All members of the household are required to be present for the evening meal unless their absence has been cleared with Lords Erestor, Glorfindel, Elrond, or Celeborn." Lindir stopped before a heavy oak door and swung it open, revealing a modest chamber. "Secretaries and Archivists are afforded more... elaborate suites. You will find the sitting room, a main bed chamber, and small office. We use the public baths, which are always available no matter the hour."

Lothvaen nodded and entered the room. "My things...?"

"I will have them brought up to you and I will come back in a few hours once I locate some robes suitable for you. Lord Erestor will not tolerate his orders being delayed." Lindir turned to leave, but came back to stand in front of the dark-haired Elf. "Welcome to Imladris, Lothvaen. Lord Erestor may seem distant and harsh, but he truly isn't."

"How long have you known him?" Lothvaen placed the smaller pack he had with him on one of the chairs in the sitting area.

"I have served Lord Elrond for the last six centuries--"

Lothvaen lifted his hand, shaking his head. "And you have not moved up in your station?"

Lindir smiled. "I have not wished to advance. I enjoy being in his employment. In those six centuries," he continued, "Lord Erestor has been Elrond's closest companion."

Lothvaen thought for a moment. "He was in the High King's court long before I arrived..." he mumbled.

The fair-haired Elf nodded. "Aye. He came into the King's service even before Lord Elrond had."

"He is old, then?"

Lindir chuckled. "That he is. I know he dwelled in Himring before he went to Lindon, but that is all I know."

"Himring?" the Noldo said, astonishment evident in his voice.

"Aye. Now, I will go and fetch those robes and have your possessions brought up." Lindir bowed slightly to the younger Elf. "Lord Erestor is a private Elf; he does not disclose his personal life to many. In fact, I am sure only Lords Elrond, Celeborn and Glorfindel know who our Councilor truly is under all the black robes and sense of duty." With that last statement, the elder Elf left the room, leaving Lothvaen slightly reeling.

He sighed and looked around the room, feeling terribly tired. This was not going to be an easy task, but Lothvaen had been in worse situations than serving a grouchy Councilor. He smiled and went into his new bedroom, throwing himself on the soft mattress and drifting off for a small nap before the evening meal.

*****

Lothvaen made his way to the office Lindir had pointed out to him the night before. The Elf adjusted his robes for the third time, finding the heavy material uncomfortable. While in Lindon, his robes were of light silk and cotton, in pale blues and greens. The robes of Imladris were much different: suffocating wool and heavy cottons in deep reds and browns. He knocked firmly on the door to Erestor's office and shifted in the robes once more. After a moment, Erestor called for him to enter, and Lothvaen pushed the door open and stepped inside.

Erestor's office was much like the Elf himself, Lothvaen thought. The room was orderly and perfectly clean without so much as a quill out of place. Lothvaen could see why Erestor thought he did not need an assistant. Erestor sat behind his desk going over several books and pieces of parchment. The bottomless black eyes met his and Lothvaen felt uncharacteristically nervous. He cleared his throat. "My Lord, is there anything I can do for you?"

Erestor shook his head, returning to his work. "No, pen-neth, there is nothing I need you to do. You are here to placate Glorfindel before he drove me mad."

Lothvaen's brow furrowed and he cocked his head slightly. "Am I to watch you for the day, then?"

The older Elf shook his head. "You are more than welcome to go to the main library and see if Anneruon needs help with the ordering of the newest shipment of books from Lindon."

Lothvaen felt his temper flare slightly, a feat unto itself since the Elf was normally quite resigned. "My Lord, I am here to aid you, not to be pawned off onto Master Anneruon when he already has his two Archivists and three pages to aid him in his organizing and inventory."

Erestor raised his eyes once more, not appreciating the tone the younger Elf was taking with him. "Lothvaen, you are not needed here. I suggest you remember your place and do as I say."

The secretary placed his hands on his hips, his anger finally winning over his need to make a decent impression with the Councilor. "I know my station! I am your aide, my Lord. For months you have been doing the job of three Elves -- you have been Lord Elrond's Councilor, the Head Librarian, and undertaking all the duties associated with running the domestic staff. In this neat and perfectly organized room there must be something I can do to ease the burden of such a demanding position!"

The Councilor's eyes went wide. "I beg your pardon?" he asked incredulously.

Lothvaen's chin lifted just a fraction and he stared right at the dismayed Elf. "It is simply the truth, my Lord. Now, please, allow me to fulfill my duty to you and Lord Elrond's house as I was bid when I left Lindon, and give me a task to perform that will ease your workload."

Erestor let out a sigh of exasperation and looked about him. His gaze fell on the household roster and he picked it up. "Your desk is there." He pointed to smaller desk by the window, filled with parchment, ink and quills. "Take these," he said, handing his insistent secretary the filled book and a larger blank one, "And copy the original roster into the new one. I have run out of room to add new household members."

Lothvaen nodded, took the two items from his Lord, and went to his desk. He smiled smugly to himself as he opened the filled book and leafed through it to find Erestor's system before he began to copy the information over.

Yes, this was going to be a most difficult working relationship if Erestor would only give him work if he demanded it from him.

*****

Erestor shed his thick, black robe and placed it with his linens to be laundered the following day. His undershirt and trousers followed the robe as he made his way to his private bath. There were many advantages of being Elrond's Chief Councilor, but Erestor used only a few of them. His private bath and spacious suite were one of those boons. He drew his bath, adding his one indulgence to the water. The ginger scented oil's fragrance filled the room and caused a smile to turn the corners of the Elf's lips.

He lowered himself into the warm water, letting the day's hassles melt away with the steam. Erestor had to admit, at least to himself, that those hassles were made fewer and more bearable by his new secretary. Lothvaen had been in his office every day for the last five days and had been a diligent and efficient employee. When he wasn't demanding work from the Councilor, he was silent and swift in his tasks. His copies of scrolls and ledgers were bold and perfectly legible, his filing was always correct, he never had to be corrected a second time, and he respected Erestor's need for space.

Erestor dipped his head below the water, and when he came up, he sighed. Glorfindel had been right. Erestor quickly finished his bath, washing his waist-length raven hair and rinsing the rest of the suds from his body. He wrapped himself in a warm, plush towel and grabbed a second that he began drying his tresses with. He stopped at his bureau, picked up the phial of oil, and coated his hands. His fingers ran easily through the damp mass of hair, and he began quietly humming to himself.

The Councilor chuckled. If anyone knew how he pampered himself or that he loved to sing, he would never live it down. His indifferent exterior made him invaluable to Elrond and he could never lose that upper hand. After finishing with his hair, he rubbed the residual oil into his skin, inhaling the sharp, hot scent of the citrus-ginger scented liquid. He felt centered and calm as he went to his wardrobe and pulled out his favorite set of sleeping trousers. The cotton whispered against his skin; the thin fabric was perfect for the warm Spring evening.

He pulled down his bedclothes and was about to extinguish the lamps in his room when there was a knock at his door. Erestor looked out of his balcony doors and saw Ithil had risen high in the sky. It was late. He frowned and walked to the door, pulling it open and glowering at the figure that stood outside his room.

"Lothvaen?" he asked, his scowl deepening. The younger Elf's eyes were wide and Erestor realized he had not slipped on his evening robe before answering the door. He pushed aside his immediate thought of retrieving the silk garment; he was ready for bed and would not cover up because his secretary decided to show up unannounced late in the night. "What is it you need, Lothvaen?" he asked impatiently.

"I..." was all Lothvaen managed as he took in the sight of his half- clad Lord. He had never thought he would see Erestor in such a state and was taken aback by the perfection he saw before him. Pale, firm muscles had been hidden by the dark, severe robes. Lothvaen realized that the body before him was one that a warrior possessed, not a simple scholar like himself. This was also the first time Lothvaen had seen Erestor's hair unbraided, the glistening, damp locks a sharp contrast against the alabaster skin.

"Lothvaen, I would like to return to bed. If you wouldn't mind...?" Erestor crossed his arms over his chest and looked down his nose at the stunned Elf.

Lothvaen blushed furiously and averted his eyes. "My Lord, I finished the first volume you gave to me two days ago and wished to begin the second, but I do not know where to find it. I did not wish to enter your study without your permission."

Erestor shook his head. "Pen-neth, leave it for now. It is late. You have two days without work; do not feel you must impress me by working yourself to exhaustion."

"It is not that, my Lord. I merely hate leaving things unfinished."

"Your dedication is admirable," the elder Noldo said, stifling a yawn, "But misplaced. This task is not especially important to me -- certainly not to the point of my running down the hallways half-naked to fetch a book for you."

Lothvaen nodded, keeping a very studious straight face at the image that statement sent rushing through his mind. "I am sorry to have bothered you, then. Sleep well, my Lord." He turned around and began the walk back to his rooms, thankful for the first time for the thickness of the Imladrian robes as it mercifully concealed certain other... effects that Erestor's appearance had caused in the younger Elf.

End Chapter One

Elvish/English:  
*Ethuil : Spring season  
*Iell : girl  
*Pen-neth : young one


	2. Chapter One

Imladris, Iavas - 1920 of the Second Age

Glorfindel sat in his seat at the council table, his eyes traveling over the other eight members gathered. Elrond cleared his throat and addressed his assembled Councilors.

"Oropher has sent a formal request for trained healers as well as a diplomat who can deal with the Men who have begun to populate the area around Greenwood. I will send three of our healers, but I would like one of you to go with them and work with Oropher and the Men. The last thing we need is for Oropher to lose his temper and wage war with the Men over a simple misunderstanding."

Glorfindel nodded. "I would go, my Lord. What are we asking in exchange for our healers?"

Elrond shook his head. "Oropher has nothing that Imladris needs, meldir."

"I beg to differ, my Lord." Erestor leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs under his heavy robes. "We could ask for some of his archers for a few of our healers. Lord Glorfindel is a master in melee combat, but we are slightly lacking in archery. Lord Haldir is a master," he nodded to the silver-haired Councilor beside Glorfindel who smiled at the slick cover Erestor used to hide the insult. "But, the truth is, one archer cannot train all our warriors. The Wood Elves are amazing archers and would do us a great service."

The Imladris Lord nodded, thinking quickly and silently. "I see your point, Erestor. Aye, I think that is a fair trade."

"I will have Lothvaen draw up the appropriate paperwork before Lord Glorfindel leaves."

"Good. Then this is settled?" The Lord of Imladris looked around the table, taking note of each nod. "Very well. Adjourned."

Erestor stood and spoke briefly with Glorfindel before exiting the chamber, heading to his office where his Whip waited. Over the last two centuries, Lothvaen had proven himself as a dedicated and driven Elf. A decade ago, Erestor had had Lothvaen promoted from his assistant to his Whip, and the younger Noldo had not disappointed him. Lothvaen was sharp and cunning. He would sit in for Erestor at the mundane council meetings, prepare reports, review documents and draw up paperwork for him.

Erestor was not surprised in the least when he entered his office and Found the younger Elf completely absorbed in whatever his current task was. Erestor watched Lothvaen for a few moments, taking in the Elf's Chocolate-colored hair and eyes that seemed more violet than blue. The Councilor felt a stirring within himself as he regarded the figure before him and his brow furrowed. He quickly pushed aside the odd feeling he had, not wishing to place a name to it. He cleared his throat and offered a watery smile in response to the bright one that radiated from Lothvaen.

"My Lord," he said simply.

"Lord Glorfindel will be riding to Greenwood within the next four days. He needs a document drawn up outlining a trade of three Imladris Healers for three Greenwood archers, as well as our assistance in the diplomatic peace-keeping in the Greenwood with the Men who are populating the area near Oropher's realm."

Lothvaen nodded, making quick notes on the small parchment pad on his desk. When he was done, he looked back up at Erestor. "My Lord, I was about to put my work away for the day and take my evening meal. Is this document needed immediately or can it wait until the morrow?"

Erestor shook his head. "Forgive me, Lothvaen. I had forgotten the time. Aye, it can wait until the new day. Go, have your meal and I will see you in the morning." The Councilor turned from Lothvaen and began leafing through papers on his own desk, deciding how late he would remain before retiring to his own chambers and falling into oblivion.

Lothvaen put his supplies aside, his eyes coming up to his Lord repeatedly. Since that night two hundred years ago, Lothvaen had nursed a carefully guarded attraction to his employer. He had never sought to deepen their relationship beyond the office, feeling that he had no place to seek his Lord's affections. Lothvaen had never felt so intimidated and on edge as when he was around Erestor. Though, he mused as he stood and straightened his robes, no one would know from looking at him that his heart never slowed around the confident but reserved Councilor.

He did not know what possessed him in that moment; he did not know why he approached his employer and reached out with a shaking hand to touch the velvet-clad shoulder of the elder Noldo. He snatched his hand back when Erestor turned quickly, his ink-like eyes wide with surprise.

"I apologize, my Lord, I should not have done that." Lothvaen cast his eyes to the floor, knowing his features colored slightly with embarrassment.

"Nay, Lothvaen, I should apologize. I should not have been so startled. Especially since I knew you were still in the room. I must have simply let my mind wander off." He chuckled nervously and turned back to his desk, recollecting his paperwork.

"My Lord? I..." Lothvaen took in a breath and returned his eyes to the stiff, straight back of the Councilor. "I wanted to invite you to dine with me this evening. That is, if you have no previous engagement..."

*****

Erestor checked himself in the full-length mirror kept in his bathing chamber. He had accepted Lothvaen's offer as a dinner companion, but had insisted the Whip come to his rooms for the meal. It would not be appropriate, he had offered as explanation, for the Councilor to travel to the third floor and dine with the staff. Although, now that he thought back on his excuse, he cringed. It sounded extremely ostentatious. He was surprised that Lothvaen had still wanted to dine with him.

The Noldo left his bedroom and entered the main sitting room of his suite. There the kitchen maid had set up a table for two and a sideboard had been added, filled with delicacies for the two Elves. He knew the meal would be more elaborate than Lothvaen expected -- or than they would have had if they had eaten in Lothvaen's chamber -- but, Erestor was the second in command in this house and was treated as such.

He tugged at his shirt, wondering why he had chosen to wear such simple clothing versus his robes. He had shed his formal robes, bathed and left his hair loose. He wore a deep crimson shirt that was cinched at his waist with a black belt. Basic black leggings and black house shoes completed his relaxed look.

Erestor scoffed and shook his head, bringing his thumb and forefinger up to the bridge of his nose. Why did it matter that Lothvaen saw him as relaxed and open? He had not desired a friendship with the young Elf. In fact, his only friend was Elrond. His life had been simple, routine before this afternoon. Six days out of his week he worked in his office, came back to his chamber, ate a small meal and then retired for the night. On the seventh day, he dined with Glorfindel and Elrond, though he sometimes wished the blond Elda would decline the weekly dinner invitation.

He supposed to those like Lothvaen and Glorfindel, who seemed to easily fit in with any crowd, his life was mundane and lonely. Erestor had never thought his life to be lacking... until tonight. He was looking forward to breaking up the monotony that had consumed his life. He had one profession: he was an advisor. This consumed his life; it always had. He had been Councilor to Maedhros, to Gil-galad, and now to Elrond. He had never taken a lover, others finding him too cold to approach. Not that he would have accepted any proposition made to him. Relationships were trouble, simple as that. It made one vulnerable, out of control, and those were two things Erestor feared. He did not fear death or pain, but remove his poise and constraint and he panicked.

That happened very rarely.

He raised his head when the soft knock at his door came. Lothvaen had arrived. Erestor looked out of his windows at the night sky and noted with a smile that the Elf was punctual. He opened his door to his hesitant dinner guest's gaze. "Come in, Lothvaen," he said as he waved the Elf into the front room. "You are right on time, I see."

Lothvaen smiled and met Erestor's midnight eyes with a new sense of confidence. He was relieved to see the Councilor had chosen to dress informally, as he himself had chosen to do. A pair of loose trousers and a white poet's shirt made him look younger than he was, but Lothvaen loved the easy feel of the clothing. His hair was pulled into a single plait, though, and he wondered why Erestor had decided to wear his without braids.

Not that the Whip was complaining; Erestor was a dark vision before him. Lothvaen knew then he had become hopelessly infatuated with the witty, clever advisor. "Good evening, my Lord. I am honored to be here."

Erestor shook his head as he took his seat, watching Lothvaen when he sat opposite him. "We are not in the office, Lothvaen. I would appreciate it if you would call me by my given name and not 'my Lord,' agreed?" He smiled at the younger Noldo, finding that the gentle expression was easy when he was with Lothvaen.

Lothvaen stared at his Lord with wide eyes. He had not referred to his employer as 'Erestor' in his presence in all the time he had served the Councilor. It seemed oddly intimate, but he nodded. "Very well, my Lord Erestor."

The Lord chuckled and began serving himself from the myriad of dishes before them. When he noticed Lothvaen waiting for him to finish plating his meal before filling his own, Erestor pinned the Elf with a piercing look. "Lothvaen, if I wished to be Lord Erestor, the Chief Councilor of Imladris, I would have had my evening meal in the main dining hall. Instead, I chose to eat in my chambers with you. Could you please ignore some of your court-learned decorum for one evening with me? The meal will go more smoothly, I promise."

Erestor was shocked with the simple ease he felt in speaking with the dark-haired Elf, whose eyes reminded him of mulberry wine in the low light. He had never given anyone, save Elrond himself, leave to speak so freely with him. Erestor realized, with a sinking heart, that he was attracted to Lothvaen, that the attraction was what he had felt when he gazed at the bowed head earlier in his office. It was inappropriate, he told himself. Lothvaen was his subordinate; it would not sit well with Elrond or himself if he sought to bed the Whip.

He blinked several times, clearing the host of erotic images that had risen in his mind. Lothvaen had been saying something to him while he was in his little trance and Erestor felt his face flush with guilt. "I am sorry, Lothvaen, my mind must have wandered. Could you please repeat yourself?" Lothvaen laughed and Erestor suddenly wished he had done something with his hair, because he felt extremely warm.

"I said, after so many years of using those court-learned manners with you, I find it difficult to simply toss them aside. But, for you... Erestor," he pronounced the name with a smirk, his eyes heated and never leaving their counterpart, "I will do anything." He knew he was being forward, not very subtle, but Lothvaen wanted to gauge Erestor's reaction to his obvious flirt.

Erestor smiled, his mind racing. Had Lothvaen just... No, Erestor thought, he was overreacting because of the train his thoughts had taken. He cleared his throat and sipped at his wine, his gaze returning to the intense, unwavering stare of his dinner guest. "I do not ask that much of you, Lothvaen. Not yet, at any rate. Now, let us eat before the food cools any further."

*****

Greenwood the Great, Iavas - 1920 of the Second Age

The escort had reached the borders of Greenwood, and Glorfindel's heart grew heavy as he looked south along the forest. He had not come to Oropher's lands since the King had moved his people North for the second time, and he cringed to see the darkness that lay in what was once alive and bright.

They would reach Oropher's settlement near Emyn Duir within the day. The Elda knew that Elrond had sent an advance messenger who could travel faster than a full escort to inform Oropher of their arrival. It had taken them two more days than Glorfindel would have expected, due to the three Healers they had with them. The three Elves were not used to eight or more hours of travel on horseback, and Glorfindel would have to stop frequently and earlier than he would have liked for their benefit.

As the group of Elves entered the wood, Glorfindel tensed and motioned for five of his warriors to dismount and fan out on foot while he and the other five remained on horseback, leading the riderless steeds through the forest. He kept his hand on the hilt of his sword and his eyes constantly scanning the thick foliage around them. Glorfindel kept his group on the path and was always aware of the five men he had running through the trees above them. The wood was dark and dense, the high afternoon sun almost lost through the canopy.

Glorfindel felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up, and he knew they were being watched. It could either be Oropher's welcoming party -- if the King had bothered to send anyone to see them to the royal talan -- or it was an enemy who was sizing them up. In the time it took him to drawn his sword, his five men had been taken down and the remaining Elves on horseback were held at in a circle of drawn bows.

"Nag thorin!" Glorfindel's eyes were drawn to the lead archer, a tall Elf dressed in the warrior's garb of Greenwood. He had hair like spun gold and eyes of cold jade. The Elda's heart sped up slightly, taking in the sight of the Elf. "Leitho laingel," the Wood Elf demanded, his voice steady and commanding.

Glorfindel turned his drawn sword so that the blade pointed to the moist earth below him. With his free hand held up in a gesture of good-will, he let the weapon fall the ground, the blade sinking into the forest floor with ease. His warriors followed suit, removing their swords and quivers.

"Pedo enethel," the Greenwood warrior demanded and Glorfindel held his head up high when he answered.

"Non Glorfindel o Imladris. Tegim nestedir an Calenglad, be Daur Oropher tolthant." His voice was just as steady and his usually warm eyes pieces of ice in the murky wood as he looked down at the Elf. Elrond _had_ sent someone; they should not have been greeted in such a hostile manner and the Imladris Lord planned on having words with Oropher if they managed to get past his watchdogs.

The Elf on the ground seemed to weigh his words carefully, then nodded. "Tolo ab-nin," he said gruffly and turned to march off down the path.

Glorfindel spared a quick glance about him and saw the bows lowered and the other warriors gather the discarded weapons. At least he and his men would get those back. The Gondolin Elf rarely felt his temper rise; he was hard to anger and it took much to set him boiling. However, the discourteous manner with which the head Elf had treated him, an honored guest of the King, set him on edge.

From his position on Asfaloth, Glorfindel watched as one of the slender Elves reached for his sword. The Elf grasped the hilt and gave it a casual yank. The blade did not move. Glorfindel felt a smug smirk grace his lips as the Elf attempted a second time to remove the weapon, this time having to brace himself and pull forcefully, nearly falling back when the blade came free in a show of un-Elflike grace.

Yes, he would have to seriously discuss with Oropher the lack of protocol his guardians possessed.

*****

Thranduil stood to his father's left, his back straight and his arms held in front him, his left hand clasping his right wrist. His eyes were at half-mast as he watched the golden-haired Balrog-slayer. The Prince had chuckled silently to himself when he had taken his place beside Oropher after introducing the delegation to the court. Glorfindel's eyes had been wide and it had taken the Imladris Elf a few moments to compose himself enough to speak with Oropher.

"My Lord, I must protest with the manner in which we were greeted when we entered your realm. My Lord Elrond sent a messenger two days ahead of us to inform you to expect our arrival. To be surrounded and treated so abruptly by your men does not bode well for the relations between our realms." Glorfindel tried to keep his voice even and not lecture the King, and he hoped he had succeeded since Oropher was smiling slightly at him.

"Thranduil?" the Greenwood King said loudly.

Thranduil cringed inwardly. He had not known the escort was to arrive. No messenger had reached this court and how could he be blamed for violating a message he had never received? Though, he knew his father would find some way of making this all the young Prince's fault. He would find himself on the receiving end of another lecture about how to be more diplomatic when finding unknown visitors in their wood. "Yes, my Lord?" he asked, knowing there was no way out of the public humiliation the King was about to deliver.

Ice-blue eyes, with all the warmth of the coldest drift on Caradhras, moved slowly to capture him. He could feel the lump form in his throat. The disappointment and displeasure radiated from the golden-haired King and Thranduil felt the flush of shame creep over his pale features -- and his father had yet to utter any word other than his name!

"Do you have naught to say about this accusation?" The voice was brittle and sharp, running down the reproachful Elf's spine.

"My Lord, we have received no messenger and could not foresee their coming. Many Men have entered our wood with the intent to do us harm and--" He was cut short when Oropher's hand shot up to silence him.

"Does the Lord Glorfindel look like a Man? Do his Healers remind you of the gruff Dwarves near us? Tell me, my son, how could you or your warriors mistake an entourage of Elves in the colors of Imladris for Men of the rough villages?" The voice was mocking, condescending, and Thranduil averted his eyes from the penetrating stare of his annoyed father.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Glorfindel shift uncomfortably before the throne, his brow furrowed and his eyes shining with compassion. Thranduil felt his chest swell when his eyes met the sympathy in the bright blue gaze that held his firmly. He almost jumped when Oropher cleared his throat, his patience wearing thin and his temper sparking.

When Thranduil opened his mouth to give a pathetic response, Glorfindel stepped in. "My Lord, forgive me. Your son and your warriors did well. Neither my warriors nor I were aware of them as they closed in on us and only knew we were surrounded when Prince Thranduil asked who we were. It is my own fault for not realizing our messenger did not reach you, not your men's. Please, accept my apologies for being so offended by a misunderstanding."

Thranduil was speechless. Glorfindel had taken the blame for the incident onto himself, sparing the Prince humiliation at court. He had even praised him and his men. His wide eyes met Glorfindel's, who winked at him and smiled gently. This was someone he had to know better. He wanted to touch those golden tresses, to know if they felt like silk or heavy like satin. He wanted to know if the Balrog-slayer was as a gentle and giving a lover as he was a diplomat.

The young Elf felt his face flush again at the thought. His father had moved on from the complaint, discussing the Healers and Archers and how long Glorfindel would be remaining in Greenwood.

When the two Elven-lords finished their council, Thranduil watched as the Elda was led away by an Elf-maid. Glorfindel looked over his shoulder once more and threw another dazzling smile at the Prince and then turned the corner. It was then that Thranduil realized the chamber was empty save for himself and his father. He turned to Oropher and visibly shuddered. His father's unwavering gaze was on him and he could almost feel the chill surrounding the Greenwood King.

"We must talk, ion," he said, his eyes narrowing as he stood and advanced on the Prince.

*****

Glorfindel had finished stowing his belongings in the wardrobe when there was a tentative knock on his door. He smiled, knowing who would be on the other side of the wood. He opened it, watching Thranduil's expression go from apprehension to desire.

The Seneschal stood, leaning casually against the door, in his leggings and open tunic. He had removed his braids and his hair hung free in gentle waves that caught the light. "My Prince Thranduil, how can I help you this eve? I do hope I did not get you into too much trouble with your father. Had I known our messenger had not reached you, I would not have made the fuss I did."

Thranduil cleared his throat, wishing he had worn his formal robes and not the leggings, jerkin and shirt that was customary for warriors in Oropher's service. He could feel the desire in his body rise with each word the golden Elf-lord spoke, the melodious tones ringing gently in his ears. Yes, he wanted the glorious being standing in front of him, apologizing for getting him in trouble.

"I am not an Elfling, my Lord," he said, shifting slightly in the hall. "I can handle my father's displeasure."

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow at him. "Indeed. Would you like to come in or would you prefer to stand in the hall, fidgeting as you are?" A look of amusement was painted on the Elda's face as he waved the Prince into the room.

Thranduil glared at him and came to stand near the grand bed in the guest chamber. His heart sped up when the echoing 'click' of the door resounded in the room, the bolt to the latch sliding home with a definite 'schnick.' He turned and almost fell back onto the bed when Glorfindel was suddenly just a few inches from him.

"My--" Once more that day he was cut off from completing his statement, but this time it was not his angry father lifting his hand. Glorfindel's hands came up to cup his face and the Elda's warm lips descended to capture his. Thranduil's eyes went wide for a moment, then slid shut as he opened to the Elf-lord's sensual onslaught.

Glorfindel smiled against Thranduil's lips, slipping his tongue into the inviting cavern, tasting the sweetness of the Prince's mouth. He had not expected the stoic Elf to be so passionate, dueling with him for dominance of the kiss. Tilting the younger Elf's head, Glorfindel took control and deepened the kiss further, sweeping his tongue over Thranduil's, causing the Wood Elf to moan and move his slender body against the needy Seneschal's. The Elda pulled back, his eyes devouring the swollen, glistening pink lips before him; Thranduil's eyes opened slowly, glazed with lust.

"I could do that all night, ernilen," he whispered hoarsely.

"Why do you stop then, my Lord?" Thranduil pulled himself closer to the elder Elf, allowing Glorfindel to feel his arousal.

The Elda chuckled. "So impatient. No, pen-vaelui, you will leave here soon and return to your lavish rooms and I will see you on the morrow."

Thranduil pulled away slightly, a frown marring his features. "Do you not want me, then?"

Glorfindel took the young Elf's hand and placed it on the bulge in his leggings. "I very much desire you, pen-neth. I have never felt such an immediate need as I have at this moment," he whispered against the damp temple of the Prince.

The warrior trembled, his hand falling from Glorfindel's body when the hot breath of the Seneschal tickled his ear. "Then why do you send me away, my Lord?" he asked raggedly, his body thrumming with unspent longing.

"Do you not know, maethoren valthen, that fruit is so much more sweet when allowed the time to ripen?" Glorfindel dipped his head again to taste of the Prince's lips, moving the Sinda toward to door. He pulled back, smiling down at Thranduil. "Go now, Thranduil," he said quietly. "I will be here in the morning and I would like to break my fast in your company, if you have no other duties before you."

Thranduil nodded enthusiastically. "I will meet you in the dining Hall shortly after dawn?"

Glorfindel could not stop smiling, the youthful exuberance making him feel young again. "Yes, that will be fine." He unlatched the door and ushered Thranduil out into the hall, offering one more kiss before pulling back. "Sleep well, my Lord." He closed the door on the Crown Prince and began snuffing the candles in his room, crawling into his cold bed.

It wouldn't be cold, a voice in his head said, mocking him, if you had not sent the very hot-blooded and willing Prince away. Glorfindel mumbled to himself in the darkness, but refused to run after Thranduil, no matter how much his body craved the Sinda.

Damn him and his virtuous nature.

He buried his head under the pillow, ignoring the throbbing that reminded him of this honorable choice.

End Chapter Two

English/Elvish:  
*Iavas : Early Autumn season  
*Nag thorin : You are surrounded (lit. You are fenced)  
*Leitho laingel : Drop your swords (lit. Release your swords)  
*Pedo enethel : State your name (lit. Speak your name)  
*Non Glorfindel o Imladris : I am Glorfindel of Imladris  
*Tegim nestedir an Calenglad, be Daur Oropher tolthant. : I bring healers to Greenwood, as King Oropher summoned.  
*Tolo ab-nin : Follow me (lit. Come behind me)  
*Ernilen : My Prince  
*Pen-vaelui : Lustful one  
*Pen-neth : Young one  
*Maethoren valthen : My golden warrior


	3. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lothvaen is referred to as a 'whip.' This does not reflect upon his bedroom proclivities. It is a British political term, a position within Parliament. We also have a similar position in the US as does South Africa. ^^ It just means he has more responsibility and a higher paycheck.

Greenwood the Great, Firith - 1920 of the Second Age

Glorfindel checked his saddlebags one last time, patting Asfaloth on his rump as he did so. He had spent a month in Greenwood and it was a bittersweet parting he felt as his departure drew nigh. He would be leaving in a few short minutes, heading back to Imladris with three of Oropher's archers. The Seneschal had succeeded in solving the King's problem with the Men who were encroaching on his lands and Oropher had been happy to give in to the small demand of the Elven-lord.

The small escort that had accompanied him into the Greenwood assembled now, plus two of the three archers. Glorfindel furrowed his brow, scanning the paddock for the last addition to his men. Instead of seeing an archer rushing to the party, he saw Prince Thranduil walking toward them, head high and in the garb of his warriors, an unstrung bow in his hand and a quiver on his back containing his long knife. Glorfindel turned to the Wood Elf who took the reins of his horse and brought him alongside Asfaloth, strapping the bow to the mount's tack.

"My Lord, are you to see us to the edge of the Greenwood? I must insist that it is not necessary; we are well-equipped and are accompanied by three of your archers." Glorfindel looked over the Elves once more before adding, "Or we would if the third archer would ever decide to deign us with his presence."

Thranduil smiled at the impatient Elda. "Lord Glorfindel, your third archer is already accounted for."

Glorfindel cocked his head to the side and counted his men once more. "No, I assure you, we are short one Elf."

"And I assure you, you are not. I am the third archer King Oropher is sending to train the Elves of Imladris. I have been ordered to remain in the fair valley for a period of twenty years, at which time your Healers will be returned to you and we shall return to our wood." Thranduil winked at the silent Elf-lord and swung up into his saddle. "I do suggest we get underway, my Lord, or we shall lose the light. And although Greenwood is beautiful, it is not a place to be caught in at night. Dol Guldur has been spewing evil creatures for years now. The denser wood to the South is no longer safe -- giant spiders spin their massive webs between the trees. They hunt and consume anything unlucky enough to enter."

Glorfindel signaled for the escort to mount and he led them from the main city of Oropher's kingdom. They rode in silence as Glorfindel digested what Thranduil had said. Dol Guldur was unleashing deadly beings into the quiet wood. What did this mean for the Sylvan Elves? He slowed Asfaloth so that he could ride beside the Prince. "What does your father do about these spiders?"

"When they come too close to our settlement, I take a host of warriors to clean out the infestation." The conversational tone the younger Elf took when discussing such a task worried Glorfindel. "Now that I have answered your question, perhaps you can answer mine."

Glorfindel nodded, "Of course, though I would have answered anything you had to ask anyway."

"Why have you not taken me to your bed?"

Glorfindel's head swung around, and his wide, surprised eyes met the cool calm of Thranduil's. "Patience is a virtue, Prince," he said simply.

"Give me no nonsense about patience. You are not made of stone, o Golden One," he teased.

Glorfindel cleared his throat. "It is not that simple, Prince Thranduil. I do not believe your father or Lord Elrond would see it to be appropriate for me to dally with the Crown Prince of Greenwood the Great."

Thranduil's face darkened, his eyes flashing with some unreadable emotion. His voice was cold and bitter when he spoke. "When did my title become a sickness? How is it that being Oropher's son somehow makes me unattainable and left with a cold bed?"

The Balrog-slayer sighed and turned in his saddle to face the Prince. "You must understand, Thranduil," he said, using the Sinda's name. "It is not that I do not find you desirable, it is not that I do not want you. While in Greenwood, I was your guest and you were the Prince. In Imladris, I will be your Captain. In either situation, we are in a delicate position." He reached out and cupped Thranduil's cheek. "Do not doubt that I would take you into my bed, but you must wait. We must be patient or we could end up hurting one another or our realms. And that I will not risk. No matter what I may feel for you, my allegiance is to the House of Elrond and I will not willingly tarnish Elrond's reputation."

*****

Imladris, Firith - 1920 of the Second Age

Erestor entered his office just after dawn and looked about. Lothvaen would usually be here by now, diligently working his way through whatever task was most pressing. This morning, though, his Whip was not in his usual place and Erestor's brow furrowed thoughtfully. He had not received word that something was ill with the Elf, or that he would be late. In the last two hundred years, Lothvaen had _never_ been late. Erestor was turning to go to Lothvaen's room on the third floor when the missing Elf stepped into the room.

"Master Erestor," he said, bowing slightly.

Erestor smiled. "You're late. You have never been late."

The younger Noldo smiled broadly, secretly thrilled the Councilor had noticed his absence. "I am still not late." He held out his palm, revealing an inkpot. "You were low on ink yesterday afternoon, and I thought I would retrieve some additional ink from the storeroom before you came in for the day."

"Hannon le, Lothvaen. You seem to know what I need long before I do." Erestor chuckled and made his way to his desk with the new inkpot.

Lothvaen went to his own desk, sorting through the day's work. Erestor's eyes kept drifting to the Whip, watching the light play on his features and the graceful movement of his body. Erestor shook his head, chastising himself. The Elf was his employee; it was not appropriate to have such thoughts about him. He began rifling through the papers on his desk, looking for a contract Elrond needed for the Council meeting that afternoon, when he would meet with the Men from one of the villages within Imladris' protective borders. Suddenly, a slender hand held out a cream-colored piece of parchment with the Lord of Imladris' flowing script on it in black ink.

"I believe you were looking for this, my Lord," Lothvaen said softly.

Erestor smiled warmly at his aide, accepting the parchment with an outstretched hand. He had finally come to expect this sort of behavior; Lothvaen was as intuitive as he was efficient. As much as he hated to admit it, Erestor knew that he would never have been able to keep up with the ever-increasing workload -- especially in these past few decades -- if it hadn't been for Lothvaen.

Erestor quickly became engrossed in his work, reviewing documents and compiling all the necessary research Elrond would need when dealing with the Men. Time passed the Councilor by; the noon meal came and went without him even pausing in his pace. It was only when Lothvaen cleared his throat, gently demanding Erestor's attention, that the elder Noldo looked up from his desk.

Lothvaen stood with a tray laden with cold meats, cheeses and bread - - all the items Erestor usually took for his afternoon meal. "I have also brought you a fresh decanter of cool water, my Lord."

Erestor's eyes widened slightly in surprise. He hadn't even noticed the Elf leave the room, so attuned was he to his work. "Is it luncheon already?"

"No, my Lord, that was half an hour ago." The Elf smiled and laid the tray on his employer's desk, then poured a goblet of the water for Erestor and placed it beside the tray. Lothvaen admired how simple Erestor's life was. The Councilor had the same peasant food each mid- day, always with water. He knew Erestor's quarters were tastefully decorated, reflecting his eye for art. Although the Elf was given a large stipend by Elrond for his services, Erestor seemed to never outwardly show that wealth.

"Have you had your meal, Lothvaen?" Erestor sliced a bit of cheese off and Lothvaen watched the sliver of food enter Erestor's mouth. He found that watching his Lord eat was an erotic experience like none other. He shook his head.

"No, my Lord. I was filing last week's Council minutes and preparing the sheets for this afternoon's Council. I must have overlooked my own meal." He stood straight, his arms folded behind his back and his head high.

"You have been quite busy these last few years, have you not?" Erestor motioned for Lothvaen to bring a chair and join him in the small meal. "You have completely rearranged my office -- I still cannot find a thing in here without you!" Erestor chuckled. He found he was most at ease with the young Noldo. They had much in common and had taken to spending every evening after work in each other's company. "One might think you ambitious, if you but put in for a promotion. I would hate to see you go, but I do believe you could do much better than being my Whip, Lothvaen."

Not many knew, but the young Elf _was_ ambitious, and was determined to be Erestor's equal. Lord Haldir, he knew, was unhappy with his position in the Council and would request a replacement soon. He hoped he could be that replacement. These last fifty years in particular, Lothvaen had spent his time and energy applying himself to all tasks presented, learning all the ins and outs of the political front in Imladris. He had spent endless hours advancing his education and befriending the right Elves. Smiling at the Councilor, Lothvaen replied, "I am honored you have such faith in my abilities, my Lord."

Erestor watched the Elf before him as he sipped his water. Lothvaen was beautiful when he smiled. "Will you be joining me for the evening meal, meldir?" It was a redundant question; Lothvaen always joined him for the nightly meal in the privacy of Erestor's chambers.

Lothvaen's eyes widened slightly; guilt could easily be read in his gaze. "Forgive me, my Lord. I forgot about a previous engagement this eve."

"Oh?" Erestor asked, raising his eyebrow inquisitively.

The Whip nodded. "Lindir and I have made arrangements for supper." Lothvaen's eyes became slightly glazed as he spoke of the white- haired secretary. "We have been trying to mesh our schedules enough that we could spend an evening together. Since Lord Elrond will be entertaining the Men tonight, Lindir's presence is not necessary and we planned an evening ride to one of the waterfalls with a cold meal packed away."

Erestor swallowed the piece of cheese that seemed to stick in his throat at the image of Lindir and Lothvaen in such a private, initiate setting. He took a long drink from his goblet, schooling his features to reveal none of his displeasure. "Sounds very romantic, Lothvaen."

Lothvaen blushed slightly. "Aye. It's what I thought when he suggested it."

"You are fond of Lindir, then?" He cleared his desk of the tray and water, reshuffling his papers to avoid looking at the object of his affection.

"Very. He quite a bit older than myself, though younger than you, but we have many common interests. Just as you and I do." Lothvaen smiled brightly at the Councilor, reading the tense movements of the elder Elf. He had accepted Lindir's offer of supper with the intent of using the liaison as a way to bring the Councilor's affections to the surface. He knew Erestor wanted him; he had learned the subtle signs of Erestor's true feelings. Though they had an easy rapport and enjoyed each other's company immensely, Lothvaen knew the Councilor sought his company for the same reason the Whip sought his: he was smitten.

He felt a brief stab of guilt at using Lindir, his dear friend, in such a way, but it passed before he could truly recognize the emotion. Lothvaen always got what he wanted, and he wanted Erestor. He had been patient long enough. Now, it was time for more forward measures.

*****

Erestor was in a foul mood. He had been for the past week. He ran down the stairs to the main entrance of the vast home with his Whip's lover at his side. Lover. Erestor felt his mood darken further and he quickly pushed the thoughts of Lothvaen and Lindir together out of his mind. The party from Greenwood was arriving and he had to greet them.

In an Autumn thunderstorm.

The season had changed while Glorfindel had been away and they were constantly bombarded with rain. The grounds around the home were muddy and a hazard to navigate and many of the Humans who lived in or near the Last Homely House had contracted some sort of fever. Elrond was constantly busy in the Healing Wing and that left the day- to-day affairs of running Imladris in Erestor's hands.

"I see them!" cried Lindir, pointing through the thick sheets of water to the drenched escort riding up slowly, many with their shoulders slumped and their horses' heads hanging low with weariness.

Erestor sighed. "Call for several pages and send word to the stable. I don't want Lord Glorfindel having to traipse back from them covered in more muck and mire. Find Lothvaen and have him quickly assign rooms for our three new residents." When Lindir hesitated a moment, still watching the riders, Erestor turned cold eyes to him. "Now, Lindir. I do hate repeating myself."

The white-haired aide nodded, walking quickly away from the chilling gaze of Elrond's Chief Councilor. Erestor turned his attention back to the escort and took a deep breath. He walked down the wide, sweeping stairs, ignoring the cold, fat raindrops that quickly soaked his hair and his robes. Glorfindel pulled Asfaloth to a stop and smiled a cheerful smile down at his adversary.

"Welcome home, Glorfindel," Erestor said pleasantly.

Glorfindel's golden eyebrows shot up in surprise at the gentle greeting. "It's good to be home, Erestor."

Erestor's eyes flickered over the three dressed in the uniform of the Greenwood. They settled on the fair visage of the archer mounted next to the Balrog-slayer. A small smile quirked the Advisor's lips. "Prince Thranduil. You were not expected to be among those your father sent."

"Adar sent word of our arrival?" asked the Prince, shifting heavily in his saddle.

Erestor nodded and took the reins to Asfaloth's bridle. "Come, dismount. The grooms shall take the horses to the stable and care for them." Erestor watched Glorfindel fluidly land on his feet, his eyes still radiating unspoken questions. Erestor averted his eyes, not sure he wanted to explain his sudden change in demeanor. He was lonely, simple as that.

Glorfindel touched Erestor's arm gently and met the ink-like pools. "I have missed your wit, meldir." He smiled and did something that surprised both Elf-lords; Glorfindel pulled Erestor into a soggy, squishy embrace. For the first time in many centuries, Glorfindel heard the warm trill of Erestor's laughter.

Erestor pulled back and graced the Seneschal with a rare smile. "And I have missed your harassment."

"You seemed to have changed so much in a single month." Glorfindel kept his arm around the slender waist of the Advisor. "Why is that?" He turned a serious gaze on Erestor. "Did you kill a small child, Erestor?"

Erestor gasped and let loose a firm punch to Glorfindel's shoulder. "You are cruel! Mayhap it is simply that the value of your company is only most keenly felt by your absence."

Glorfindel simply grinned, leading Erestor down the hall to one of the stairwells that would lead them up. He turned and motioned for Thranduil to follow, not noticing the dark look that passed over the Prince's face.

Thranduil felt the fire of jealousy burn in his chest as he followed his would-be lover and the dark-haired Noldo. He had never met the Councilor, but he had heard from his father about the clever, sharp somber-eyed Elf. He wondered if Glorfindel had shared Erestor's bed before coming to Greenwood. His eyes narrowed with suspicion, focusing on the Balrog-slayer's arm wrapped tightly around the Elf- lord. Perhaps that was why the blond had never taken him to bed, simply stolen kisses and heated touches; he had his lover here in Imladris to think of.

As they navigated the halls, Erestor's thoughts drifted to Lothvaen. Why they did this he could not say, but ever of late, when his mind was free of other concerns, he found his wandering thoughts more and more often settling on his young Whip. Neither could he understand the sudden flare of hostility he felt toward Lindir. Perhaps it was simply because Erestor had cultivated a friendship with Lothvaen -- his first serious friendship outside of Elrond (and, he reluctantly admitted, Glorfindel) -- and he was afraid that he might lose that should Lindir begin to monopolize Lothvaen's time.

Suddenly, as though Erestor's thinking brought him into being, Lothvaen was before them at the bottom of the staircase. Erestor blinked, not quite believing the coincidence. After a moment's thought, though, the Councilor mentally cursed his forgetfulness. Of course Lothvaen would be here; Erestor had sent Lindir to fetch him.

"Lord Glorfindel, Prince Thranduil," the Whip said respectfully. "I trust that your journey was uneventful, save for the Valar's most recent attempt to wash Imladris into the Bruinen. I have sent word to the Captain of the Guard to find quarters for the Greenwood archers among the other fighting-men. However, Lord Elrond has instructed that Prince Thranduil, out of respect for his station, be given special accommodations in the family wing. I have taken the liberty of preparing the empty room beside Lord Glorfindel's. If you will follow me, my Lord Thranduil."

Lothvaen turned and started up the staircase. Thranduil stepped from behind Glorfindel and Erestor, flashing a less-than-dignified look from the corner of his eye as he passed. The expression was not lost on either Seneschal or Councilor. Erestor cocked his head at Glorfindel in confusion.

"Breaking the hearts of impressionable young warriors again, mellonen?" he asked, only half in jest.

"Not to my knowledge," Glorfindel said seriously. "In fact, I had half a mind to court the young royal."

"Indeed? Then perhaps you should tell _him_ that before he incinerates half the courtyard with one of those looks."

Glorfindel shot Erestor a lopsided grin. "Perhaps. A warm bath and a dry tunic first, though. Will you walk with me, Lord Councilor?"

"By all means, Lord Seneschal." Erestor smiled in return and began to climb the steps to the family wing where he and Glorfindel each also maintained a suite of rooms.

*****

Thranduil turned at the sound of a knock at his door. He had just finished unpacking his meager things into the spacious closet of the suite. Despite his heritage, he had expected to be housed with the other archers, and had packed accordingly. He had also not expected to be given a private bathing chamber, but had taken full advantage of it nonetheless. Now, warm, clean, and dry, the Prince felt more like one of his rank should, and he strode proudly to the door and opened it.

Glorfindel stood before him, also washed and dressed in dry clothing, with a cautious expression on his face. "May I come in?" he asked softly.

Thranduil grunted an affirmative and opened the door wider to allow the Elda entrance. Glorfindel swept past him into the room, and Thranduil pushed the door closed. When he turned to face his visitor, the Sinda was pulled into Glorfindel's embrace. The Seneschal had moved so quickly, he hadn't seemed to move at all; one moment he was in the center of the room; the next, he was wrapping his arms around Thranduil and pressing him against the door.

When Glorfindel lowered his head for a kiss, Thranduil turned his head, breaking the grip indelicately, and spinning out of the elder blond's reach. Glorfindel, confused by this sudden change in attitude, stood speechless and motionless, staring at the intricate grain of the thick oak door.

"Is your Councilor-lover so consumed with affairs of state at this moment that you would seek to slake your lust with me?" Thranduil asked acidly.

Glorfindel finally turned from the door to face the Prince. "My... what?" Understanding dawned in the Seneschal's blue eyes. "Oh! You thought that Erestor..." Glorfindel broke off, too taken by a sudden fit of laughter to continue.

Thranduil narrowed his eyes. "I am pleased that you find such humor in my situation. However, in future I would appreciate you finding another to be the victim of your pranks."

Glorfindel sobered instantly, eyes widening as he realized that Thranduil was serious. "Erestor and I are not lovers," he tried to explain, but Thranduil did not seem to hear.

"You could have simply told me that you were previously involved and I would have troubled you no further. Instead, you led me on, thinking that when you left I would remain in Greenwood and never be the wiser. What a crushing blow it must have been to you when you learned that I would be returning with you."

The Sinda would have continued, but Glorfindel took the initiative and grabbed Thranduil by the arms, staring down at him intently until the younger Elf broke off in mid-sentence.

"Erestor and I are _not_ lovers," Glorfindel repeated more slowly, pushing down the swell of anger that Thranduil's accusations had caused. Thranduil winced under the pressure of Glorfindel's grip, and the Elda released him and stepped back. "We are and have always been friends and nothing more," he began in a gentler tone of voice. "You may have mistaken our particular brand of teasing and easy friendship for something more, but that does not mean that it exists."

Thranduil's gaze remained skeptical, so Glorfindel sighed and continued. "Have I had lovers in the past? Certainly. Do I have one at present? No. I had a wont to cultivate such a relationship with you, ernilen. If you can forget your irrational jealousies, perhaps one can still be forged. That is a choice I must leave up to you."

Before giving Thranduil a chance to reply, Glorfindel nodded his head curtly and left the room, closing the door on the Sinda's chastised expression.

*****

Erestor watched the Prince all but storm into his room, offering Glorfindel a heartfelt look as the Seneschal entered his own suite. He sighed and turned, coming face-to-face with his Whip.

"Lothvaen," he said tiredly. "Shouldn't you return to your duties?" He pushed past the younger Noldo and opened the door to his own rooms.

Lothvaen's face darkened and he followed his employer into his chambers, closing the door firmly behind him. "My duty is to you, my Lord." He walked passed the Councilor, going directly to the private bathing chamber he knew Erestor possessed. He lit several lamps in the room, smiling as he took in the decor of the room for the first time. He leaned over and plugged the tub, releasing the tap that would allow hot water from the large copper boilers on the upper floor to flow into the basin.

Erestor slowly came up behind Lothvaen and crossed his arms. "What are you doing?" he asked, his voice much sharper than he had intended.

"You are soaked to the bone, my Lord, and I would wager your skin is as cold as the snow drifts on Caradhras. A heated bath would do you wonders before you come down for the evening meal." Lothvaen reached for an open phial of oil and poured a generous amount into the rising water, the sharp scent of ginger permeating the room.

"What would lead you to believe I would be dining in the main hall this evening?" Erestor was becoming flustered with Lothvaen's presumptuous attitude.

Lothvaen turned to the Elf-lord and smiled sweetly at him. "Lord Elrond has called for a feast to welcome Oropher's son to Imladris. As the Imladrian ruler's dearest friend and his Chief Councilor, I would assume your presence would be required." Lothvaen knew his tone was bordering on mocking, but he could not understand why Erestor had been treating him so distantly the last few days.

Silence hung between them as Erestor tried to rein in his temper. He could not understand his anger with Lothvaen. This Elf brought out parts of Erestor's personality the Councilor had never known existed. It was then, in a blinding moment of clarity that he realized he was _jealous_. He was angry that Lothvaen had begun spending time with Lindir, time that was once all his. He was furious that his Whip would lay with Elrond's secretary but not with him.

But, did he really wish to take Lothvaen as his lover? Erestor had taken no other in all his years, but Lothvaen... He brought up his confused eyes, seeking answers in the violet depths of the young Elf before him.

Lothvaen knew the moment had come, he saw it in the innocent clarity of Erestor's eyes. He could not waste it. He slowly closed the space between them, his hand coming up to cup the back of the elder Elf's head. Erestor was few inches taller than he, but Lothvaen did not see this as a disadvantage. He pulled Erestor's face close to his, rising up slightly on his toes, and brought their lips into contact. Erestor's lips were soft and pliant beneath his and he sought to deepen their kiss. Nipping at Erestor's lower lip caused the Elf- lord to gasp. Lothvaen took the opportunity to slip his tongue into the warmth beyond Erestor's lips and teeth, sweeping his tongue thoroughly over the expanse.

Erestor felt weak, his head swimming with desire for the slightly smaller Elf ravishing his lips. His eyes closed and he moaned deep in his throat, wrapping his arms around the slender waist of his employee.

The younger Noldo broke the kiss and stepped back, panting, his eyes the darkest shade of plum Erestor had ever seen. Lothvaen turned off the tap and returned to the still-dripping Elf. His eyes never leaving Erestor's, he began to undo the intricate series of buttons that held together the black robes Erestor always donned. Deft fingers made short work of the garment and it fell to the floor in a heavy, sodden mass. Lothvaen's hot hands skated over the planes of Erestor's clammy chest, fulfilling a fantasy he had long harbored about his employer since seeing him in only his sleeping trousers centuries before.

Erestor shuddered at the intimate, heated touch and felt himself harden within his leggings. His mind was blanketed in a thick fog of arousal, and he arched into the touches bestowed upon him. His cock throbbed when his Whip gracefully fell to his knees before him, unlacing the house boots Erestor wore while at work. Lothvaen raised his eyes once more as his fingers loosened the lacings to the Councilor's leggings and slid them off the narrow hips and defined thighs, revealing Erestor's desire to his hungry gaze.

"You are one of the most beautiful beings I have ever seen, Erestor," he said raggedly and reached out to take his Lord's shaft in his hand. He gave a few tentative strokes and then licked his lips hungrily when a few beads of clear fluid appeared upon the slit.

The elder Noldo watched with wide, unblinking eyes at the erotic sight before him. Lothvaen's eyes were at half-mast as he inched closer and closer to the Lord's desire. Erestor felt a wave of dizziness when Lothvaen's tongue snaked out and retrieve the sticky fluid from him. "You are one of the sweetest Elves I have ever had the pleasure of tasting," came Lothvaen's melodious voice, followed by Erestor's cry of pleasure when he found himself completely swallowed by the younger Noldo.

Erestor's hands flew to Lothvaen's shoulders, desperate to find some purchase in the sensual tempest in which he was currently adrift. His head fell back and Lothvaen's hands came to cup his buttocks, urging him to thrust in the hot, moist cavern of his employee's mouth. Erestor's body took over and he plunged into the waiting suction over and over, knowing his release was just within reach.

Lothvaen swallowed swiftly, feeling Erestor's cock jerk in his mouth; felt the Councilor's body go tense right before his mouth filled with the viscous fluid of his release. He swallowed, moaning as he cleaned his secret love reverently and savored the almost sweet taste of the older Noldo.

Erestor panted, falling back against the wall with exhaustion. Despite his having never taken a lover, he was not a stranger to the feelings he'd just experienced. Like most younglings, he had been curious about the changes in his body and had touched himself in various ways. That had been literally Ages ago, though, and the sensation of being pleasured by another was distinctly different, while at the same time being familiar. The familiarity was what allowed the Councilor to linger in that gentle state in the aftermath of his orgasm for a moment.

That moment ended abruptly, though, when he felt a sharp stab of guilt for allowing Lothvaen to service him in such a way. The Whip's words from only a few moments ago echoed suddenly in his stricken mind: 'My duty is to you, my Lord.' The implications of that statement worried him. He closed his eyes against the now unwanted sight of his friend on his knees, licking his glistening lips and running his hands lightly up and down Erestor's trembling thighs.

Lothvaen sensed the subtle change in Erestor's demeanor and stood slowly, cautiously taking the measure of the dark-haired Elf before him. "Erestor?" he asked softly.

The Councilor turned away from Lothvaen and stepped into the rapidly cooling water, more from a desire to conceal his nakedness than to clean himself. As he sank down into the pool, he was acutely aware of Lothvaen's eyes following him, clearly expecting some kind of response.

"That was inappropriate," Erestor said hastily, then gently added, "Enjoyable though it was," in hopes of easing the unintentional sting of his words. Lothvaen began to stammer an apology, but Erestor held up a hand. "No, do not apologize, mellonen. The experience was not unwelcome, and I thank you for it. However, you are still subordinate to me, and it would be highly unorthodox of us to pursue this sort of entanglement." The rising embarrassment Erestor felt had thrown the Elf into full "Councilor mode", leaving him struggling lamely to defuse the situation with the careful application of vocabulary.

Lothvaen got the idea readily enough. He could almost see the wall of forced professionalism that Erestor suddenly slammed down between them. The Whip was not angered so much as disappointed. He had been certain he had not misunderstood or misinterpreted Erestor's feelings, and yet now he felt as though he had performed a desecration of sorts, a betrayal of the carefully garnered and hard won friendship he shared with the Councilor. The lingering taste of Erestor's seed in his mouth suddenly felt bitter and acidic. He thought briefly of saying something -- anything -- but he knew better than to trust his voice in that moment. Instead, he lowered his head, biting his lip to hold back the threatening tears, and rushed indecorously from the room.

End Chapter Three

English/Elvish:  
*Firith : Late Autumn season  
*Hannon le : Thank you  
*Mellonen : My friend  
*Ernilen : My Prince


	4. Chapter Three

Imladris, Firith - 1920 of the Second Age

Lothvaen flew down the corridor on the family floor, heading straight for the staircase. His face was aflame with his shame; he felt dirty. In all his years, with as many lovers as he had taken, he had never once felt so worthless. The Noldo had dropped to his knees before the being he knew he loved, knew he wanted, and he had been rejected as if he had simply put a petition through to build a new home on Imladris soil! His humiliation quickly turned into anger. He had not misinterpreted the looks Erestor had sent his way! The Councilor had melted into his touches and whimpered his need!

He flew up the stairs to the third floor, where both his and Lindir's rooms were located. Lindir was not only an exemplary personal aide, but he was also an accomplished musician. The minstrel would be performing for the Lord of Imladris tonight in honor of the Prince of Greenwood, which would mean Lothvaen would be alone until late. Lothvaen's desire was unabated, though, and he needed release _now_. As he turned the latch to Lindir's door, he prayed the light-haired Elf had not yet left for the main dining hall.

"Lindir?" he called, panting slightly with his frustration.

The resident of the room came out from the bedroom area, clad only in his robe. His pale eyes became dark with worry as he took in the state of his lover. "Lothvaen? Is something not well?"

Lothvaen crossed the small living area to where the elder Elf stood and embraced him roughly, brutally taking his mouth in a searing kiss. Lindir's breath caught in his throat and he had to open his mouth to allow the entry of Lothvaen's insistent tongue. His young love had never been so needy or so out of control before and Lindir felt himself slowly losing what dignity he had. He ground his awakened arousal against Lothvaen's and moaned his need into the hot mouth that demanded all he had to give.

The Whip led the aide into the bedroom, his lips never leaving their counterpart's. Lothvaen's eyes were tightly screwed shut as he pictured dark hair and liquid black eyes, recalled the impassioned cries and tight grip from moments earlier. In the arms of Elrond's trusted secretary, Lothvaen's thoughts centered around Erestor. He quickly removed the robe from Lindir's shoulders and then his own robe, shirt, boots and leggings. He snatched the phial of oil from the bedside table and pushed Lindir back into the mattress.

Their lovemaking had never been so swift. It had always centered on drawn-out play before the act, so Lindir knew something was terribly wrong with his partner. "Lothvaen?" he asked, his heart fluttering with lust and anticipation.

Lothvaen's hooded and dark eyes met Lindir's wide, clear ones and he smiled a dangerous smile. "Hands and knees, pen-velui," he said, his voice low and commanding.

Lindir shifted his position, drawing his knees up to his chest and resting his head on his folded arms. He closed his eyes and took a calming breath, but nearly jumped when the cool, slick fingers of his bedmate brushed his tense opening. He willed himself to relax, willed his trepidation to melt away -- this was his friend and lover, after all, and Lothvaen would never hurt him.

Lothvaen quickly inserted his finger, oiling the tight passage liberally, and then slid in a second finger. He prepared his lover quickly, stretching the narrow channel to accommodate his member. He did not, however, prepare Lindir as well as he should have. His anger still simmered just below his arousal and he felt a subtle need to hurt someone. He wanted to hurt Erestor, just as the Noldo had hurt him, but Erestor was now beyond his reach.

He lubricated his cock, withdrew his fingers from Lindir's body, and buried himself to the hilt without warning.

Lindir cried out his pain, feeling as if he had been split apart. He blinked back tears, biting his lip to prevent a sob from escaping. Lothvaen's grip on his hips was painful and he knew he would bruise where each digit dug into his pale skin. Lothvaen did not wait for Lindir to adjust to the size of his lover as he usually did, but set a savage pace. Before Lindir could lose his erection, though, Lothvaen had reached around and gripped his cock in a sure, tight grip.

His vision was clouded with red; the words his employer had said after Lothvaen had given of himself were repeating in his mind. He rode Lindir mercilessly, squeezing and stroking his lover's shaft with ferocious intensity. When his orgasm came, Lothvaen let loose a tortured cry and pumped his seed deep within Lindir's sore buttocks.

Desire and fear warred within Lindir, and the pale-eyed aide let his tears flow shamelessly as the burning heat of Lothvaen's release coated his battered insides. His own release came on the heels of Lothvaen's and he muffled his cries in the pillow as he stained his bed sheets. He face was bright with humiliation, feeling degraded by one he had trusted to be his lover.

Lothvaen gently pulled away from Lindir's trembling body, flinching when he heard the pained hiss that issued from the prone figure. "Lindir?" His voice shook and his heart ached. Lindir had not deserved what Lothvaen had just done to him and he desperately wished to ease the hurts of his lover.

Lindir took several deep breaths and then attempted to sit up. He let out a strangled moan as the movement caused intense pain to spike within him. Lothvaen jumped from the bed and retrieved the wash basin, a soft cloth and some healing salve from Lindir's wardrobe. Lindir had shifted onto his side and curled up, his forehead resting on his knees. Lothvaen felt tears sting his eyes. He gently sat behind his aching lover and dampened the cloth.

The aide sucked in his breath when the cool, soft cloth touched his enflamed, tender skin. "I am sorry, Lindir," came the forlorn voice, full of self-loathing. Lothvaen removed all the oil and his seed from Lindir's opening, silently thankful there was no blood on the rag or his lax member. He opened the tin, took a large amount of the thick cream onto two of his fingers, and slowly soothed the abused area. He tried to be as delicate as possible when he slid those two fingers within Lindir and salved the mistreated passage.

When he was done, Lothvaen washed his own hands and crotch, feeling a much deeper shame than that which Erestor had caused him to feel. In silence and without looking at Lindir's shivering form, Lothvaen dressed and replaced his boots. Finally, he crouched on the floor beside the bed to look into the tear-stained face of his lover. "I--"

"I know," Lindir choked out. "You're sorry." The clear blue eyes moved away from the tormented violet ones. "Please go, Lothvaen. I think I would like to be alone before the feast tonight."

Lothvaen nodded and stood, wishing he could undo the damage he had just caused. Instead, he walked from the room in a daze, not knowing how things could have spiraled so out of his control so quickly. He knew he would never lie with Lindir again; the trust they had was gone. In a few short hours, he had lost his lover and compromised his employer.

He wished he had simply remained in Lindon all those years ago.

****

Imladris, Rhîw - 1920 of the Second Age

Glorfindel stared out over the small practice field, watching his men and the three Greenwood Elves. Thranduil was an amazing archer, and the Seneschal had assigned him the bulk of warriors to train. The other two were given smaller groups, neither having much experience in instructing. The weeks had passed quickly since the Imladrian escort had returned with the Wood Elves and Glorfindel's situation with the Prince had not changed. In fact, it had only worsened.

Glorfindel had demanded that the three from Greenwood join his men in their morning melee training sessions. It was during these sessions that Glorfindel had taken to singling his would-be lover out from the others and demonstrating his point. In other words, he would repeatedly attack the poor archer until he had brought him to his knees and forced the words of yielding from his lips. This did not bring the Balrog-slayer much joy, but it did make his point.

What that point was, Glorfindel was not quite sure.

"Glorfindel?" Erestor's eyes narrowed as he was ignored once more by his friend. He put his hands on his hips and huffed slightly. The blond's eyes were distant as he watched the young Prince training with one of their more accomplished swordsmen. Erestor's temper finally got the best of him and snatched a blade from the rack and swung it at the Seneschal as he snapped, "Must I wield a blade to garner your attention, my Lord Seneschal?"

Glorfindel dodged the swipe, instinct taking over and pulling him from his reverie. He looked with wide eyes at the twinkling light in the Councilor's. "Forgive me, my Lord Councilor. I was... distracted."

Erestor stabbed the blade into the moist ground, chuckling softly. "I could tell."

The two Elf-lords turned when they heard muffled snickering. The whole yard was still, all members of Glorfindel's small army watching them intently, the three archers from Greenwood standing in the front line. The two less experienced warriors were sneering at the dark- haired Noldo and Erestor crossed his arms over his chest.

"Is there something you find amusing, Gondithen?" Glorfindel asked one of the Wood Elves, who quickly sobered and shook his head. "And you, Eruviluion?"

The dark-eyed Elf held his head a little higher and nodded. "You fear the Councilor of Imladris."

Glorfindel chuckled. "And you would too, if you knew what I know."

Erestor allowed his lips to curl into a challenging smirk as the Elf rolled his eyes. "No offense, my Lord," he said, addressing Erestor, "But he is only a scholar -- nothing to shrink from!"

"Would you like to challenge him then, Eruviluion?" Glorfindel looked to Erestor and the Elf-lord nodded his assent if the younger Elf would like to spar.

Eruviluion was about to accept the challenge when Thranduil held up his hand. He was still jealous of the Noldo and wanted this opportunity to embarrass the elder Elf. "I am the more experienced swordsman here, Eruviluion. If there is to be a challenge, I will issue it." He turned to the Councilor. "I challenge you."

"I accept," Erestor said.

Glorfindel silently laughed and motioned for the other warriors to stand back. In the distance he caught sight of Erestor's little pet, Lothvaen. The young Whip had been speaking with Haldir, but their attentions had been drawn to the unusual events on the practice yard. Glorfindel waved a hand to them, thinking that his morning had never seemed so promising.

Lothvaen's heart sped as he took in the predatory look upon his employer's face. "What is happening, my Lord?" he asked when he came into hearing distance.

Glorfindel crossed his arms and leaned against one of the many trees that lined the practice area. "Prince Thranduil feels he can best our Lord Councilor with the blade."

Haldir joined in Glorfindel's amusement, which Lothvaen could not understand. "I am not sure I know why the two of you are so at ease with this. My Lord Erestor is a scholar, not a warrior."

The silver-haired Elf from Doriath shook his head. "You have been his aide for how long, Lothvaen?"

"My Lord, I have assisted Lord Erestor for nigh on three centuries." Lothvaen's puzzled expression made Glorfindel smile wider.

"Then you have learned nothing of your Lord, meldir," Haldir said. "Just hush and watch." He nodded toward the two Elves in the center of a large circle of onlookers.

"Are you sure you wish to do this, pen-neth?" Erestor asked. "I do not wish to humiliate you in front of your infatuation."

Thranduil eyes flashed with anger. "I am very sure, Lord Councilor."

"Very well." Erestor stepped to the side where Glorfindel stood and began to unbutton his robes.

"Do not hurt him, poicaquen," Glorfindel whispered. Lothvaen's eyebrow shot up at the endearment, but he remained silent. He and Erestor had not spoken much since the afternoon in his Lord's bathing chamber. Lothvaen hid his shame behind silence and cold efficiency, whilst Erestor simply ignored him unless he had no other choice but to speak with his aide.

Erestor grinned at the Elda. "You are quite smitten, pen-iaur. I will not injure anything but his pride." Erestor slid his thick, dark robes from his slender form and handed them to Haldir. Beneath his formal attire, the Councilor wore soft-looking trousers and a simple maroon shirt. Lothvaen watched him deftly braid his hair into a single rope and then grasp the sword he had planted before Glorfindel in his right hand.

The change within the Noldo took Lothvaen's breath away. Where there was once a silent, calculating tactician now stood a deadly, dangerous creature of night. Erestor took careful steps toward the armed Sinda and allowed a sneer to cross his fair features. The yard was deathly silent and Lothvaen's lungs burned with his held breath, waiting for the first blow to be struck.

Erestor swung his sword widely and heavily, his eyes watching every muscle in Thranduil's body. The Sinda Prince easily deflected the strike, but that was what the Councilor had wanted. Glorfindel knew Erestor's fighting style as well as he knew his own. His friend was cataloging every action and reaction the younger Elf made. He did not advance on Thranduil, but allowed the Prince take the offensive. Thranduil was quick on his feet, had plenty of power behind his thrusts and lunges, but brute strength was nothing compared to Erestor's millennia of experience.

Lothvaen watched Erestor and Thranduil circle one another, watched the Wood Elf attempt to disarm the elder, but Erestor seemed to expect every move and was ready to counter each maneuver. Lothvaen was impressed with the skill his Lord possessed and wondered where he had acquired the prowess he had with the steel. Erestor once again deflected a blow and it was then that Lothvaen realized Erestor was toying with the young one.

The other two Elf-lords seemed to realize this as well. "Lord Glorfindel," Haldir muttered, "We shall be here all morning if you do not put a stop to this."

Glorfindel nodded. "You are correct, my Lord Haldir." He cleared his throat and called out to his friend. "Any time now, Erestor! I would like to continue with my training session."

Erestor nodded and called back, "Very well, Glorfindel."

Erestor intensified the grip on his sword and swung himself around, throwing all his weight into his weapon. He easily used the momentum to disarm Thranduil, sending the Sinda's blade into the air while the Noldo used the remaining force of his spin to kick Thranduil's legs from beneath him, forcing the Prince onto his back. Erestor danced with fluid grace and before anyone could blink, the Councilor had his blade to Thranduil's throat and the blond's own blade embedded deep within the earth between the Wood Elf's splayed legs.

Glorfindel came forward with Haldir close behind. "He yields, Erestor," he chuckled. Erestor's posture eased and he stepped back from the shocked Sinda. He bowed slightly to Haldir when the Elf handed him his robes back and took the sword from Erestor. Lothvaen watched from his original position while Erestor redressed and released his blue-black locks from the single plait.

Thranduil stood and went to wrench his sword from the ground, but found he could not. Erestor simply smiled a serene, knowing smile at Thranduil. Glorfindel gripped the hilt of the buried blade and yanked, himself slightly impressed with the force Erestor must have used. He handed the sword back to Thranduil, his gaze never leaving the Prince's. "I want to see you in my office," he said solemnly. "Right now. The rest of you, break off in pairs and practice your footwork exercises."

Erestor looked over Haldir's shoulder and saw Lothvaen, looking lost and unsure of what he was to do. Erestor sighed impatiently and called out to the Whip. "Come, Lothvaen. We have wasted enough of our time here. Imladris calls us." He turned sharply, nodding to the two remaining Elf-lords, and began his trek back to his office. He knew Lothvaen was scurrying after him and he silently prayed that the young Elf would spare him from conversation.

"My Lord Erestor?" It seemed, Erestor thought acidly, the Valar were determined to make him pay for humiliating the young Prince in front of his peers and the object of the young Prince's affection.

"Yes, Lothvaen?" he replied in his most annoyed, exasperated tone.

Lothvaen kept his eyes ahead of him and took a deep breath. "My Lord, how is it you have such skills?"

Erestor stopped and looked at his aide quizzically. "Do you think I was born with quill in hand and parchment before me?"

The younger Elf shook his head. "No, my Lord, but..."

Erestor began walking again and shook his head. "I am a warrior, Lothvaen. I was a warrior long before I was a scholar. It is in my blood. I fought alongside the Sons of Feanor and my father in Nirnaeth Arnoediad. I fought with the Noldor from Aman in the War of Wrath. I fought alongside Elrond and Celeborn to defend Eregion, and when that fell, to defend this valley." He turned serious, ebony eyes to the stunned Whip and took hold of the Elf's upper arm, speaking in an even, deadly tone. "I knew how to kill long before I knew how to mitigate."

Looking into the depths of his Lord's eyes, Lothvaen saw a darkness there that frightened him. Erestor, who shone so brightly when Lothvaen looked upon him, dimmed in that moment, standing in the hall before his office. Lothvaen sensed a deep well of anger, of fury, bubbling below the cool indifference that the Councilor showed the world. He knew that the quiet diplomat he knew from his endless days at the desk across from him was just a single, small aspect of who the true Elf was.

*****

Thranduil followed Glorfindel into his office near the front of the barracks, his eyes downcast and his face stained with humility. Erestor had beaten him fairly and Thranduil had to admit he saw the scholar in a new, more respected light.

Glorfindel silently sat behind his desk and pulled the duty roster for the next rotation. He checked the names, made some changes and then left a note on the top for his aide to copy it and post the parchment. Then he took a deep breath and focused on the silent, still figure standing before him, watching his feet. He shook his head and stood. "Thranduil." The Sinda looked up and met the gentle eyes of the Elda. "When you are in the Greenwood, you are Prince Thranduil Oropherion, the heir to the throne of the great wood. When you sit at Lord Elrond's table, you are Prince Thranduil, a respected and admired diplomat for your father's court. When you are on that practice field, when you take your blade and bow and mount your horse to join _my_ patrol, you are Thranduil -- a warrior under my command and you will act as such. You will _not_ challenge a renowned warrior of the First and Second Ages in the hopes of crushing him before your peers." Glorfindel's voice had taken on a hard edge it did not usually possess, but he was furious that the Greenwood archers would wish to injure his friend.

"Yes, my Lord," the younger Elf said softly.

Glorfindel leaned against his desk. "He is not my lover."

Thranduil's eyes flashed with this statement. "So you have told me."

"Yet you do not believe me." Thranduil looked away. "Ernilen, I spoke the truth when I said I had hopes in courting you. I did not lie to you in your father's kingdom. But, there can be no hope for us if you do not trust me. I have given you no reason to believe me untrue, pen-velui." Cupping Thranduil's cheek, Glorfindel smiled reassuringly at the Prince. He quickly removed his hand, though, and returned to his large chair, picking up the weapon's inventory sheet.

Thranduil watched the golden-haired Elf closely and felt a hollow feeling in his chest. He had misjudged both his would-be lover and the esteemed Chief Councilor, and he felt guilty for his untrusting behavior. He wanted Glorfindel; he had since the moment the Elda's lips had touched his in the guest chamber in his father's home. Thranduil quietly removed his sword belt and unlaced his tunic. As he walked around the Seneschal's desk, he removed the plaits from his hair, allowing the long, corn silk locks to fall about his face. "My Lord," he purred.

Glorfindel looked up and his breath caught in his throat. Thranduil slid into his lap, twisting around until he was comfortable. Glorfindel felt himself quickly grow hard beneath the younger Elf's weight and could not restrain the groan that escaped his lips. Thranduil looked down at him from his position and Glorfindel found himself burying his hands into the thick curtain of Thranduil's hair. He drew the Sinda down to him, capturing the slightly parted lips with his own. Glorfindel bit Thranduil's full lower lip slightly and then plundered his mouth with his tongue.

He thoroughly explored the Prince's mouth, swallowing the sighs and impatient moans the Sinda offered. Glorfindel brought his free hand down to slide between the open flaps of Thranduil's tunic and stroked the soft, firm flesh he encountered there. Thranduil broke the kiss to throw his head back and bared his throat to his Lord, hissing when Glorfindel's fingers found his nipple, tugging at the mithril ring piercing his flesh there, and the Elda's teeth found the base of his neck.

"Glorfindel!" he whimpered. He could feel the bruise from Glorfindel's bite darken his pale skin. He looked down into the aqua eyes, now dark with passion and need. "I trust you, my Lord," he whispered before leaning in to kiss the Balrog-slayer once more.

Glorfindel had just drew Thranduil's tongue into his mouth, suckling on the slick muscle and gently grinding their arousals together, when there was a stiff knock at the office door. Thranduil jumped off Glorfindel's lap and turned to face one wall while Glorfindel slid his chair closer to the desk to hide his obvious state of arousal.

"Come!" He felt his features darken with a blush at the statement he had just uttered and glared at Thranduil's back when the Prince snickered.

This was going to be a long day, the Elf-lord thought, shifting uncomfortably in his seat as two of his Sergeants entered the room to give their daily report.

End Chapter Four

English/Elvish:   
*Firith : Late Autumn season   
*Pen-velui : Lovely one  
*Rhîw : Winter season   
*Poicaquen : Pure one (Quenya)   
*Pen-iaur : Ancient one   
*Ernilen : My Prince


	5. Chapter Four

Imladris, Echuir - 1921 of the Second Age

Haldir stood before the council, dressed in his warrior's garb. "You have no choice, my Lord Erestor. I am not a diplomat. I resign my position."

"And what will you do?" asked Elrond.

"Lord Glorfindel has already given me a position with the ranks of Imladris' militia."

Glorfindel cleared his throat. "I have given him the rank of Captain and he has his own regiment. Erestor, he is a fighter, not a scholar. He has held this position long enough. There are several Elves we could choose as a replacement."

Erestor sighed. He knew Haldir had been listless sitting in a council chair. When he had joined them, he had been one of the few Elves in the valley with the experience necessary to aid in the governing of Imladris. "Did you have an Elf in mind to replace you?"

"I thought to ask Lindir if he would take the position." Haldir let out a breath of relief as they finally began debate on who would take his position.

Elrond shook his head. "Lindir has expressed to me his lack of ambition within this household. He is content to be my aide and nothing more. What of Saelbeth?"

"Saelbeth is new to the household. If there is another who would suit the chair then the position should go to them," Erestor said.

Glorfindel smiled. "Lothvaen. He has been Erestor's Whip for years. He has sat in on many of the councils and he is quick to learn."

Elrond looked to Erestor. "What do you say, meldir? Is Lothvaen equipped to take a council position?"

Erestor's breath stopped. This was what he had dreaded. He wanted to keep Lothvaen with him, near enough that he saw him every day but still at a distance. Promoting him to Councilor would mean a change of quarters and an office of his own. But, he could not deny his friend this opportunity. "I will make the offer to him after the session."

Elrond nodded. "Very well. Haldir, you are relieved of your council position and I wish you well in your new station."

Haldir bowed low. "Hannon le, my Lord." He nodded to Erestor and then Glorfindel before exiting the chamber, signaling the end of the council session.

*****

Lothvaen looked up from the map he was studying when his employer entered the room. "My Lord," he acknowledged respectfully before returning to the map.

Erestor cleared his throat and clasped his hands behind his back. "Lothvaen. I must speak with you about an important matter. Your station within this house is to be altered."

The Whip looked up with trepidation shining in his eyes. "Have I not performed my... duties to your liking, my Lord?" Lothvaen would not allow himself to be simply pushed aside; demoted because Erestor couldn't come to terms with what had transpired between them.

Erestor's pale features colored with shame. "Your performance, Lothvaen, is not in question. You are a loyal and admirable Elf. Which is why the Council has decided it is time for you to be promoted. Lord Haldir has resigned his position and it has been offered to you."

Lothvaen stood up, the map forgotten, and looked disbelievingly at his Lord. "Me?"

Erestor smiled and nodded. "I told you the day would come when you would leave this office. Do I tell Lord Elrond you accept?"

"Yes!" Lothvaen said, a smile brightening his face.

"It is good to see you smile again, meldir," Erestor said softly. "I will have one of the pages bring you new robes tonight. Council will begin tomorrow after the morning meal. I will also have your office prepared and your new quarters assigned."

Lothvaen felt slightly dizzy. "So many changes."

Erestor walked to his desk, chuckling at the faint voice of his friend. "Aye. Your pay will also increase."

"Increase?" Since the House of Elrond already provided for most necessities, Lothvaen felt that his six silver pieces a week were more than adequate for whatever else he required.

Erestor nodded. "All Councilors receive weekly stipends of five silver pieces and four gold pieces."

Lothvaen's eyes widened. He did not want to ask what stipend Elrond offered his Chief Councilor. "Where will my new quarters be, my Lord?"

Erestor smiled enigmatically at Lothvaen's use of his title. "Lord Elrond will decide that. You are to appear before him this evening before you retire."

The new Councilor nodded and returned Erestor's smile. Lothvaen's heart swelled with pride. He knew that it was Erestor who had secured his position within the Council. Another thought came to him, and his heart sped with the realization that this no longer placed him directly under Erestor. He was no longer the Chief Councilor's employee. Lothvaen knew that the employer and employee situation had simply been an excuse the older Noldo had hidden behind, but now he had a real opportunity to learn the truth.

He decided he would speak with Lord Glorfindel, since he was one of two in Imladris Lothvaen knew who were close to the Councilor.

*****

It had been weeks since they had been alone together. Thranduil removed his cloak and sword belt, smiling at the bare-chested Elda. The days following the spar with Erestor had been spent from dawn until well after the evening meal working with the new recruits who would begin patrolling within the month. Now that spring had arrived, they would take their places among the seasoned warriors. Thranduil spent endless hours teaching adequate archers to be deadly with every arrow they shot.

Glorfindel was weighed down with the inventory of the barracks, and the acquisition of new uniforms and additional weaponry. The Seneschal was known to spend much of his day with the Chief Councilor going over the new year's budget for the household and defense. Yes, they had accountants for such tasks, but Glorfindel would joke about Erestor's need for control. Each year, the new spending budget would be looked over by Erestor personally. It just happened that this year, Glorfindel was in need of additional funds to equip the fresh warriors and have new bows made.

Each night, when the two Elves would meet between their rooms, Glorfindel kissed the Prince for long moments and then they both retired their respective rooms. They were too exhausted to do much more than strip and fall into bed. This day, though, was a day of rest for both the Prince and the Seneschal. Thranduil slowly stalked across the Elda's bedroom, untying the laces to his jerkin and tossing the garment to the floor. Glorfindel's hands slid beneath Thranduil's shirt when the younger Elf reached him, causing Thranduil to shudder.

"I have wanted you for months now, my Lord," he murmured against Glorfindel's lips. He was already painfully aroused and they both knew this act would be over with before they wished it to be.

"I know." Glorfindel slowly brought their lips together, immediately invading Thranduil's mouth with his tongue. He had never known another to do to him what Thranduil did. The Prince merely had to look at him and Glorfindel's body became inflamed. He broke the kiss long enough to slip the shirt over Thranduil's head and quickly reestablished the connection of their mouths. He had long since found the hidden treasure below Thranduil's clothing, something Glorfindel found arousing and intriguing. Glorfindel fondled the small mithril rings that were threaded through Thranduil's raised nipples. He had been fascinated the first time he had discovered the rings, and he now delighted in tugging them gently and capturing the deep moans this caused in Thranduil with his mouth.

Thranduil wove his fingers into the mane of gold and deepened the kiss further, thrusting himself against the Imladrian Lord. He wanted Glorfindel desperately and was more than willing to show his desire. Glorfindel's fingers left his chest and skated down his back, sliding beneath his breeches to cup the hard globes of his buttocks briefly and then moved back up to circle the Prince's slender waist. With strength that still amazed Thranduil, the Seneschal picked him up and Thranduil wrapped his long, lean legs around the Elf-lord. He drew back from the mind-numbing kiss, gasping for air. "My Lord, you undo me," he panted.

Glorfindel's eyes were cobalt, glazed with passion. He offered Thranduil a devastating smile and turned to lay the younger Elf on his bed. Thranduil's hair fanned out around him, his face flushed, his lips bruised, and Glorfindel was at a loss to conjure any image more beautiful than his Prince. He leaned over Thranduil, pulling one of the rings into his mouths, swiping his tongue around the tender flesh beneath his mouth. Glorfindel quickly unlaced Thranduil's leggings, finally releasing the hard flesh he had patiently waited to hold. Thranduil let out a keening wail, bucking against the Elda's palm, when Glorfindel finally wrapped his slim fingers around the hot, aching shaft.

The Seneschal left Thranduil's tortured nipples and made a wet trail down the center of the Elf-prince's body. He looked up once into needy and impatient eyes, his mouth hovering above the darkly-colored head of Thranduil's cock. He opened his mouth wide, about to take the glistening column in his mouth when an insistent knock came from his chamber door.

"Ignore it," begged Thranduil, arching up, his pleading eyes telling Glorfindel all he needed to know. The Elda returned to his task, snaking his tongue out to taste the clear fluid that had collected on the tip in a heavy drop, but was stopped by another, more pressing knock.

Glorfindel sat up, huffing with frustration. "Díheno nin, ernilen." Glorfindel left the room and Thranduil reached down to stroke himself slowly, imaging his Seneschal touching him again. He was so engrossed in his task that Glorfindel's soft chuckle startled him.

"Though I enjoy watching you do that, pen-vaelui, we will have to put our desires on hold for the moment. Lord Lothvaen is here and he desires my counsel." Glorfindel crossed the room and kissed Thranduil sweetly. "Perhaps our next day of rest will be less eventful."

Thranduil glared. "What have you done, Lord Glorfindel, to earn the wrath of the Valar?" He hastily retied his leggings, moving painfully. He would go back to his room and relieve himself. There was no option; he could not go the day without release.

Glorfindel laughed. "How I adore you, Thranduil." He kissed the Prince one last time and led him out to the main room, where Lothvaen stood uncomfortably. Thranduil smiled and bowed slightly to the younger Elf. "My Lord."

Lothvaen looked surprised, but returned the gesture and Thranduil left the room. The new Councilor looked at the Seneschal. "Lord Glorfindel, you should have told me you had the Prince as your... guest." He smirked at the Elda. "I would have come back later."

Glorfindel shook his head and uncrossed his arms. "It would have been an interruption no matter when you arrived, my Lord." Glorfindel offered Lothvaen one of the plush armchairs near the hearth.

"Why do you call me that?" Lothvaen obediently sat, clasping his hands decorously in his lap.

Glorfindel lounged in the chair opposite the Noldo and chuckled. "Well, because that is your title!"

"Lord Erestor did not inform me of that change," he mumbled.

"Lothvaen, you have been privy to the council sessions, you have worked under Lord Erestor for almost three centuries, and you did not know that a promotion to Councilman offered you a social status increase?" Glorfindel leaned forward. "Are you truly that naive, meldir, or just oblivious?"

Lothvaen laughed. "I can see how you could be an annoyance to our Chief Councilor. I am oblivious to such things, my Lord."

"Glorfindel."

"Excuse me?" Lothvaen knew his face colored slightly.

"Glorfindel. You do not need to call me 'Lord', Lothvaen." Glorfindel smiled widely at the shocked Noldo. "You really never expected to leave Erestor's employment?"

Lothvaen shook his head. "I did not wish to."

Glorfindel's smile turned scheming rather than welcoming. "So, I have been correct these many years. You are fond of the dark-haired one." When Lothvaen's blushed deepened, Glorfindel ceased smiling and his eyes went slightly wide. "You love him."

"Please, do not tell him of my affection. He..." Lothvaen chewed his lip, wondering what to tell Glorfindel. He had not entrusted his secret to anyone in the household, but his heart told him the Balrog-slayer was an honest and trustworthy Elf. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I have made advances, which have been rebuffed. I am confused, because I know there is an attraction."

Glorfindel looked thoughtful for a few moments, thinking on the enigma of Erestor. "In all the time I have known our dear Councilor, I have never known him to share his bed with someone. He has never spoken of a lover, been seen with a lover... I am certain he is untouched."

Lothvaen felt as if he had been kicked in the gut. Nausea rose within him and he felt hot, very hot. "That explains--" He cut himself off before finishing his thought.

"That explains what, meldir?" Glorfindel asked, raising one eyebrow with curiosity.

"Nothing," he said, shaking his head. Erestor, untouched. Lothvaen felt brutish, falling to his knees before the virginal Councilor and... Lothvaen sighed. He had handled this whole situation terribly. It was no wonder, now, that Erestor had reacted the way he did when Lothvaen had completed his worship of the Councilor's flesh. Lothvaen cleared his throat. "Do you know anything about Lord Erestor, Glorfindel? I know so little of him and he does not like to speak of himself."

"Erestor. I know he is from Himring. At least, I know he dwelled there; I don't think he was born in Maedhros' realm. He was past his majority when Maglor took Elrond and Elros in. That was how Erestor and Elrond met." Glorfindel smiled sadly. "Erestor, I know, was devastated when Elros died. He and Elrond would spend hours locked away, mourning. Eventually, they brought each other through the loss.

"He has fought in several battles, though he has not made a name for himself. It's funny, really," Glorfindel joked. "For an Elf who has done as many deeds as Erestor has, he is not mentioned in our history books. Ever."

Lothvaen's brow furrowed. "Why is that?"

Glorfindel simply shook his head. "That, I do not know. In fact, what I have told you is all I know of Erestor. He guards his past well. I fought beside him and trust him with my very life, but I know little of him. He was already a part of Gil-galad's court when I came from Valinor; he was a devoted Councilor to the High King."

"Is there no one who knows about the Elf?" Lothvaen was surprised at how someone so trusted could have such a vague past.

"If there is anyone in Arda who would knows the answers to your questions, meldir, it would be Lord Elrond. Erestor has known him since he was but a child fostered by the Sons of Fëanor. There would be no secrets from Elrond... not that I think Erestor ever tried to keep any from our Lord. They love one another, you see." Glorfindel smiled at the shock on Lothvaen's face. "Pen-neth, you _must_ be oblivious. He adores the Peredhel. He would do anything for Elrond. But, it is not the love you feel towards him. More... like that of a brother."

Lothvaen nodded. "Then I must speak with Elrond."

Glorfindel grinned in his unnerving way, nodding slowly. "Aye, meldir. If you do not wish to seek your answers from the Chief Councilor yourself."

End Chapter Five

Elvish/English:  
*Hannon le. : I thank you.  
*Díheno nin, ernilen. : Forgive me, my Prince.  
*Pen-vaelui : Lustful one  
*Pen-neth : Young one


	6. Chapter Five

Imladris, Echuir - 1921 of the Second Age

Thranduil sighed as he stood on the steps leading into the Last Homely House. He watched Glorfindel spar with another Elf and felt his body stir. This was pure torture. He turned from the scene and began to stroll along the hallways of Elrond's vast home and let his mind wander.

He missed the woods of his father's realm. The Prince felt practically useless within Elrond's employment. His only responsibility was to train the archers every other day, which left Thranduil with many free hours to fill. The Prince spent many of those hours with Glorfindel's Captain, Haldir. The Elf was engaging, and Thranduil was constantly awed by how much knowledge of history the blond Sinda possessed.

He made a left turn down a hall and found he was facing one of the two staircases that connected the floors of the house. Thranduil knew that the one large room to his right was the main dining hall, but he had never come behind it. His feet had brought him to the hallway that housed the offices of Glorfindel, Erestor and Lord Elrond. Thranduil's conscience tugged at him and he sighed. He needed to speak with Lord Erestor and apologize for his immature behavior on the training field.

Thranduil passed by the office he knew to be Glorfindel's, since it had an entrance on both the South and East hallways. Erestor's would be the next office and Thranduil approached the open door of the Chief Councilor's office. The Prince knocked on the doorframe and waited.

"Come!"

The Elf-prince strode into the office and bowed slightly to the seated Noldo. "My Lord."

"Prince Thranduil," Erestor said coolly. "How can I help you?"

Thranduil looked around the well-appointed office and noted the empty desk across the room. "Where is your secretary, my Lord?"

"Lothvaen has been promoted to the position of Councilor. He has his own office now." Thranduil could hear a deadness in Erestor's voice that he had not noticed before.

"May I speak with you, Lord Erestor?"

Erestor sighed and put aside the parchment he had been working on. "Sit down, Thranduil." The Greenwood Elf pulled one of the simple, straight-backed chairs in front of the large, dark wood desk and sat. "Now, what is it you wish to speak to me about?"

"I apologize for my actions on the training field, my Lord. It was not my intent to insult you." Thranduil, through much self- discipline, kept eye contact with the Noldo Lord.

"What was your intent, then, pen-neth? Were you attempting to stake your claim on Lord Glorfindel? I assure you, there has never been -- and never will be -- anything between the Seneschal and I that should worry you." Erestor allowed a cold smile to form on his lips. "Glorfindel may be one of the most irritating Elves I have ever met, but he is a trustworthy warrior, and you do him an injustice to have thought he would play with your emotions." The Noldo relaxed in his chair, his glittering eyes never leaving the slightly colored face of the Prince before him.

Thranduil cleared his throat. "I still offer my apologies, my Lord. What is between Lord Glorfindel and I does not concern you, and I should not have attempted to vent my frustrations upon your person."

Erestor nodded. "Apology accepted." He picked up his quill once more and brought the parchment back to the center of his desk. "If you do not mind -- with Lothvaen no longer assisting me, I have much work to do before dusk."

"Aye, Lord Erestor." Thranduil replaced the chair and bowed again before exiting the room. The Prince exhaled a sigh of relief when the afternoon sun warmed his face. The office of the Chief Councilor was decorated in rich browns, reds and greens, but Thranduil had felt chilled in the presence of Erestor. The Elf set him on edge, and he could not fathom why.

He shook his head and walked down the hall, in the direction of Glorfindel's office. Thranduil smiled to himself when he saw the door slightly ajar. His would-be lover was done with the training sessions. Perhaps they could steal a few moments together before they were interrupted. Again.

*****

Glorfindel looked up from the report he had been reviewing and felt his mood lighten considerably. Just seeing the face of his Prince caused him to smile. "Good afternoon, pen-vaelui."

Thranduil closed the door and approached the desk. "Good afternoon, my Lord Seneschal."

"Is there something I can do for you?" Glorfindel pushed back from his desk and went to stand up, but Thranduil quickly seated himself in the Elda's lap.

The Prince took Glorfindel's mouth, hungrily kissing the full lips. Glorfindel brought his arms around the Wood Elf's slim waist and pulled their bodies into closer contact. At times, Glorfindel was still amazed by how quickly Thranduil could bring him to full arousal. After only a few moments of having the archer's body resting on his thighs and the Prince's long fingers threaded in his hair, Glorfindel was moaning his need.

Glorfindel slid his hands under the thin silk shirt Thranduil had chosen to wear for the warm day. On his days of rest, Thranduil usually wore very casual clothing and Glorfindel smiled against the lips of his lover. "You do not make it much of a sport to undress you, melethen."

Thranduil panted, his hips moving of their own accord against the hardness he felt through Glorfindel's leggings. "Perhaps I have had enough sport, my Lord. We have been interrupted, disturbed, put out, and left dissatisfied long enough. If it means I walk the Last Homely House clad in nothing but my mithril circlet, then so be it." The Prince attacked Glorfindel's lips once more, drawing the Balrog-slayer's tongue into his mouth and suckling it eagerly.

The elder Elf shifted beneath Thranduil's weight; his leggings had become uncomfortably tight. Thranduil chuckled and moved his hands from Glorfindel's hair, slowly down the warrior's lithe body. Glorfindel arched beneath Thranduil's skilled hands and he allowed his head to fall back against the headrest of the chair. The Prince continued his downward course while leaning in and tasting the flesh of Glorfindel's neck. Glorfindel's eyes closed and he let out a deep moan when Thranduil's hands finally released the hard shaft from its confines at the same time as he bit into the Elda's neck, sucking and marking him as the Prince's.

Glorfindel had never felt such intense desire as he did when the Prince touched him. "Aniron le," Glorfindel groaned when Thranduil released his throat and he could once again look into the jade eyes.

Thranduil's lips curved seductively as he looked at the passion-dilated eyes through thick, dark lashes. He traced Glorfindel's swollen bottom lip with the tip of his tongue and stroked Glorfindel's arousal with long, sure strokes. He had just swiped his thumb over the drops of clear fluid that leaked from the tip of Glorfindel's cock when there was a sharp rap at the office door.

"By the Valar!" Thranduil complained quietly.

After a few moments, the knock came again. "My Lord Seneschal?" Erestor's voice came from the other side of the door. Glorfindel looked at their state of undress and knew they had little time to right themselves before Erestor simply entered the room. Thranduil did the only thing he could think of: he slid from Glorfindel's lap and knelt under the large desk. He would be safely hidden from any visitors.

Glorfindel shifted himself close to the desk and whispered, "Retie my leggings!" After a moment, Glorfindel called, "Enter!"

Erestor and Elrond came into the room and Glorfindel wished that Manwe would open the very ground his desk sat over and swallow him whole. "My Lords."

The two dark-haired Elf-lords sat at the chairs placed before Glorfindel's desk. "Glorfindel," Elrond said with a slight bow of his head. "I wished to discuss with both of you..." Glorfindel lost track of the conversation after that, because it was then that Thranduil wrapped his hand around the still-hard shaft protruding from the Elda's breeches.

His back went stiff and he tried to listen, to look interested in whatever Elrond was explaining to him. But, when Thranduil's hot, wet mouth plunged down over his weeping sex, Glorfindel knew he was lost. It took all his self-control not to close his eyes, not to moan his delight in feeling the intense suction of the accomplished Prince's mouth.

Thranduil set a punishing pace, working as much of Glorfindel's cock as he could with his lips and stroking the remaining length with his hand. Glorfindel felt faint, and he knew his increased breathing had become noticeable.

"My Lord, is something ill with you?" Erestor sat forward in his seat and looked at his friend with concern.

Glorfindel shook his head. "Forgive me, my Lords, but I think I have just-" His voice hitched when Thranduil slid his tongue into the slit at the tip of his length and he cleared his throat. "I think I am just weary from the morning session with the new recruits. Perhaps I will finish this report and then retire for some rest before the evening meal."

Elrond nodded, his brow creased with worry. "If there is no change in how you feel by supper, please come to the Healing wing and see one of the Healers."

The Seneschal knew he was close to his release and he tried with all the self-discipline he could muster to stave it off for just a few moments longer. "Aye, meldir, I shall do that."

Erestor and Elrond stood, bowing slightly to Glorfindel. "We shall see you this evening?" Erestor asked, looking once more at Glorfindel's flushed face.

"This evening," he managed.

Then the room was blissfully empty and Glorfindel slid his chair back from the desk enough to see the blond head of the Prince working his shaft with a wanton disregard of their location. It took only a few additional moments of watching the Wood Elf and hearing the enthusiastic moans that reverberated up his thick flesh before his hands were buried in the younger Elf's head, holding Thranduil still and he thrust himself into the warm slickness. He spilled himself down the Prince's throat and cried out the Elf's name, panting in exhaustion.

Thranduil cleaned the evidence of Glorfindel's passion from his lips and smiled up at the Seneschal.

Glorfindel chuckled, breathing heavily as he brushed the stray tresses from Thranduil's face. "You are talented, melethron. But, perhaps we could choose a more... appropriate venue next time?"

"I found this one most inspiring, my Lord." A mischievous glint sparked in the depths of Thranduil's oak eyes and Glorfindel knew he was in love.

"It is almost time for the evening meal. I do not believe I have the strength to offer you the same relief you have offered me." Glorfindel stroked Thranduil's cheek lovingly and leaned in to kiss the Prince sweetly, tasting himself on Thranduil's tongue.

When they parted Thranduil shrugged. "I seem to have become used to going unfulfilled."

Glorfindel laughed. "My poor Prince!"

*****

Lothvaen nervously tapped on Elrond's door, feeling awkward for coming to his Lord's private chambers. He chewed his bottom lip fretfully, not understanding from where his unease came. Lothvaen did not consider what he was doing prying; he needed to know about Erestor and Glorfindel could not help him. Other than Erestor himself, Lord Elrond was the only one left he could seek answers from.

Elrond opened his door and the shock on his face at seeing his newest Councilman on his doorstep must have been obvious.

"My Lord Elrond? Do you have a few moments this evening so that I may speak with you?" Lothvaen hid his shaking hands in the long sleeves of his robes and tried to keep his anxiousness out of his voice.

"Of course," Elrond said, moving aside and inviting Lothvaen into his rooms.

Lothvaen looked around the main room, his eyes taking in the décor of his Lord. The room was decorated in rich, dark tapestries and fabrics; warmth radiated from the chamber and Lothvaen felt immediately at ease. The scent of medicinal herbs permeated the atmosphere and Lothvaen thought the room suited the Lord of Imladris perfectly. It was inviting, but there was an underlying current of power, of mystery to the room and Lothvaen knew he had made the right decision coming to Elrond.

"Please, sit." Elrond motioned to a sitting area near a cold hearth and Lothvaen nodded. He chose one of the plush, overstuffed settees and crossed his legs at his ankles, resting his hands tightly in his lap. Elrond sat in the high-backed chair opposite the young Noldo and tried to understand why Lothvaen radiated a sense of unease. "What is it you need to speak with me about, Lothvaen? Are you not happy in your new position?"

Lothvaen shook his head. "No, my Lord, I am honored to have been chosen. The purpose behind this visit is more of a personal nature." He took a deep breath and looked directly at Elrond. "I would like to know about Lord Erestor."

Elrond raised one eyebrow and regarded the Elf before him. He had watched Lothvaen over the years, had known of the young Noldo's attraction to Erestor. Elrond had known this discussion was coming, ever since Erestor had come to his rooms in an emotional mess some weeks ago babbling about his secretary, the bathing chamber and the ensuing mental confusion. Elrond had done his best to soothe Erestor's concerns, to ease his fears, but he knew that from then on, Erestor had kept the young Noldo at arm's length. Elrond sighed. "Lord Erestor is a private individual, Lothvaen. Perhaps it is he you should be speaking with."

"I cannot do that, my Lord. He has become... uncomfortable with my presence." Lothvaen finally looked away from the wise grey eyes that regarded him with a calm knowledge.

"Why is that? I have never known Erestor to be troubled by many. In fact, short of Lord Glorfindel, Erestor has always treated those around him with a quiet respect."

Lothvaen wrung his hands in his lap. "He does not treat me with any less respect than anyone else, but, we have had some personal dealings which left him unhappy with me."

Elrond crossed his legs and relaxed into the comfortable chair. It seemed he would be detained for quite some time. "Unhappy with you?"

"The day Lord Glorfindel returned from King Oropher's realm, I was aiding Lord Erestor in his chambers. I prepared him a warm bath, since he was soaked through from the rain. I... kissed him."

The Peredhel chuckled. "A kiss? I must admit, it has been many, many years since one has had the courage to kiss Erestor." Elrond became lost in his thoughts for a moment, remembering the feel of the Councilor's lips against his own. They had kissed only once, but it was an experience Elrond kept close to his heart. He shook himself from his memories and smiled gently. "A kiss is hardly something to feel ashamed of."

"It did not stop at a kiss, my Lord." Lothvaen felt his face color with his embarrassment.

Elrond had not been told the details of their encounter from Erestor; the Noldo had been too distraught and Elrond had not wished to push the issue with his friend. Now, he worried that things had gone much further than Erestor had wished, and he fought not to jump to an incorrect conclusion. "Did you bed him?"

Lothvaen could hear the change in his Lord's voice. Glorfindel had been right: the Lord of Imladris loved Erestor dearly. And now he thought Lothvaen had taken Erestor to bed unwillingly! He frantically shook his head, his eyes wide and pleading. "I did no such thing, my Lord! I know what you may think I did, but I did not. I merely..." Lothvaen searched for the best way to word his actions. He lowered his eyes and when he spoke, his voice was just above a whisper. "I pleasured him with my mouth."

Elrond nodded, his heart feeling slightly relieved. "And he allowed this?"

"That is where my confusion stems from, my Lord." Lothvaen stood from his seat and began to pace slightly. "He responded to my kisses, he did not stop me from kneeling before him. It was only once the act was done that he seemed to... recoil. When he realized I might ask for the same in return -- or more." He looked down at Elrond. "I care greatly for him and my intent was not to force him to do anything he did not wish to do. My pleasure came from his, and I did not ask for him to perform any act upon me. But, he jumped into the pool and told me it was 'nice' but 'inappropriate' and it was not to happen again."

The Elf-lord thoughtfully tapped his fingers on the armrest of his chair. He could imagine Lothvaen's reaction to being dismissed so after performing such a deed for someone he admired and cared for. Perhaps the fallout between Lindir and Lothvaen had something to do with what had occurred between Erestor and Lothvaen. Elrond put that to the side of his thoughts, though, and concentrated on the matter at hand. "And you would like to know what from me, meldir?"

Lothvaen sank back down into the cushions of the settee. "I would like to know why he rejected me in such a manner. I want to know why he has never had a lover and why no one in Imladris -- save you -- knows anything about him. I want to know how to reach him. I have loved him for centuries now, but he does not allow me to enter his heart. There is also a darkness about him sometimes, something that frightens me... I want to know who he is."

"You ask for a lot, Lothvaen. Some of the answers you seek I cannot give you. But, I can offer you some information. I urge you, if you seriously wish to hold Erestor's heart, to ask Erestor for the answers to the questions I cannot answer." Elrond stood. "Before I begin, I was going to pour myself a goblet of wine -- would you like one?"

The young Noldo nodded. "Please."

After Elrond had settled back in to his seat and taken a few sips of his wine, he began his story. "Erestor was born shortly before Fëanor left Aman with his sons. He was but a toddler when his father took him from their home and fled with the Noldorin host. He has always idolized his father..." Elrond said wistfully.

"Who was his father? Did he survive the journey?" Lothvaen quickly drained his glass, his heart beating faster. Erestor was old, much older than he had thought.

Elrond smiled. "Erestor's beloved father was Amras, one of the twin sons of Fëanor. His mother did not live long after they began their revolt. He does not remember her and there is a sadness within his heart because of this."

"Amras... Erestor is of the House of Fëanor?" Lothvaen's shock amused Elrond.

"Aye, he is the last. He was born in Aman, Lothvaen. He and his cousin, Celebrimbor, came with Fëanor and his sons. He was just thirty years of age when they made it to the northern shores of Lake Mithrim. He was taught how to wield a sword before they ever reached that lake. He fought alongside his kin when the Orcs came; their camp had not even been completely set." Elrond stopped for a moment, sipping his wine. "Would you like another glass, meldir?"

Lothvaen held up his hand, declining the offer. "He fought against the forces of Morgoth..."

Elrond nodded. "He did. He was there when Fëanor took his last breath; he sparred with his uncles after Fingon returned Maedhros to them. Erestor, son of Amras, has seen much in his life. After Thingol gave the lands of East Beleriand to the Sons of Fëanor, Erestor went to live with his cousin and his uncles in Himlad."

"Why did he not reside with his father?"

"The twins went into the wilds of Beleriand. They had seen enough death and chose to remain hidden until the Siege was over. They felt that Curufin was best suited to raising the child. After all, Curufin had been raising Celebrimbor with only the aid of his siblings for years. After only a few years with Curufin, though, Erestor was sent to live with Maedhros." Elrond looked away, draining the last of the liquid from his cup.

"Why?"

Elrond shook his head. "That tale is not mine to tell. But, that is where the hurt began for Erestor. And it only compounded as the years wore on. He has blood on his hands that he cannot wash himself of, and it has festered within him for many years." Elrond's stormy eyes met the deep violet of Lothvaen's and he spoke in earnest. "His heart and soul have been fractured, Lothvaen. He fears anyone who could help repair the hurts he has suffered. He fears _you_."

"I do not understand, my Lord." Lothvaen's brow furrowed and he closed his eyes. "I wish I did, but I do not."

"You will." Elrond stood. "If you wish for any more answers, you will have to seek them from Erestor. He will not give them up easily, and I encourage you to press him for them." Elrond brushed his fingers against Lothvaen's cheek and smiled down at the perplexed Noldo. "He does love you, he wants you, but he cannot bring himself to allow you that complete control over him. For Erestor, that control is all he has."

"I do not wish to lord over him," Lothvaen said heatedly.

"What you wish is scarcely the issue. It is what Erestor perceives. It is late now, Lothvaen. You should go to your rooms." Elrond moved back to allow the Noldo to stand and he escorted him to the door.

"You have been most helpful, my Lord," Lothvaen said and he bowed slightly. "It is obvious, though, that the root of this matter lies with Erestor. I will speak with him."

"I wish you all the luck of the Valar." He smirked at Lothvaen as he closed the door on the Elf. "I do believe you will need it."

Lothvaen turned from the shut door, walked across the hall of the family floor and entered his small suite. Now that he had spoken with Elrond, he understood why he had been given these quarters by the Peredhel. They were situated next to Erestor's, and it seemed Lord Elrond saw much more than the average resident of Imladris thought.

The young Noldo smiled to himself and he stripped out of his robes. Yes, Lord Elrond had been, and continued to be, most helpful.

End Chapter Six

English/Elvish:  
Pen-vaelui : Lustful one  
Aniron le. : I want you.  
Melethen : My love


	7. Chapter Six

Imladris, Echuir - 1921 of the Second Age

Thranduil slipped through the door into the room next to his own. Anor had not yet risen and he could steal through the room easily in the pre-dawn light. He ghosted through the main room and stepped lightly into the bedchamber. Thranduil's breath caught in his throat as he took in the sight of Glorfindel lying in his bed, the Elda's golden hair fanned out on the pillow and his bright eyes glazed and half-closed with reverie. It pleased Thranduil to see that the Balrog-slayer obviously slept in the nude and the Prince quickly removed his own clothing.

The Wood Elf slid beneath the cool sheets and brought his body close to the warmth of Glorfindel's. As soon as Thranduil's body came into contact with Glorfindel's, the elder Elf's eyes became clear and aware, taking in the sparkling green eyes of his lover.

"Maer aur, pen-vuil," Thranduil murmured.

Glorfindel smiled sleepily and raised a hand to touch Thranduil's cheek. "Aye, it seems to be a very good morning, melethen." Glorfindel twined his fingers through Thranduil's hair and brought the Elf-prince's lips to his.

Thranduil shifted, deepening the kiss until Glorfindel seemed to notice for the first time that his Prince was naked beside him, and he drew back. "Your clothes seems to have disappeared, ernilen," the Elda teased.

"I wouldn't worry," Thranduil returned. "They'll find their way back; they always do."

Glorfindel chuckled. "Am I to assume you are here to take advantage of my... vulnerable state?"

Thranduil slid his hand over the soft skin of Glorfindel's stomach, resting his palm just above the indent in the Elda's belly. "I do not believe, my Lord, that you are ever vulnerable." The Prince's eyes had darkened and Glorfindel could feel his lover's arousal hot and hard against his hip.

Glorfindel felt his own desire flare within him and he pulled Thranduil down for another heated kiss. Thranduil slowly slid his hand down the expanse of Glorfindel's stomach. He smiled into the kiss when Glorfindel arched his hips off the mattress in an attempt to bring his hard length into contact with Thranduil's questing fingers. "Now who is impatient?" he asked, nipping at Glorfindel's bottom lip.

The Elda laughed softly. "Are you telling me you would like to wait? We could go and break our fast, and perhaps Lord Elrond could demand my presence today."

Thranduil growled and rolled so that he was atop the Balrog-slayer and bit at the skin of Glorfindel's neck. "Nay, my Lord. You are mine for the day and I will not waste a moment of it," he whispered hotly against Glorfindel's throat.

Glorfindel ran his nails down Thranduil's back, delighting in the moan it brought forth from the Prince. Glorfindel knew their first time was not going to be slow and long; the Elda was already painfully aroused and he wanted to feel Thranduil within him as soon as possible. "If you wish the day, melethen," he panted, turning his head away from Thranduil to expose more of his neck. "Then we have the day to explore one another. I want you _now_." To stress his desire, he thrust up against Thranduil, bringing their erect members together.

The Wood Elf groaned and nodded. "Where do you keep the oil?" Glorfindel motioned to the bedside table and Thranduil stretched over the Elda to reach the drawer. Glorfindel could not help himself and he captured one of Thranduil's nipples in his mouth, drawing on it hungrily as he continued to thrust against the Prince. Thranduil shuddered and quickly located the phial. When he returned to his original position, he looked questioningly at Glorfindel. "Do you..." he asked hesitantly, indicating the phial.

The Elf-lord chuckled and unexpectedly spread his legs, allowing Thranduil to nestle between his thighs. "Does that answer your unasked question, ernilen?" Glorfindel's eyes glittered with laughter. It had been many years since he had had a lover so passionate and playful as Thranduil.

Thranduil laughed as he opened the phial and poured a generous amount on his hand. He glanced up at Glorfindel, his eyes the color of oak leaves in the summer. "Have you done this before, my Lord, or are you a blushing maid?"

Glorfindel sat up and shifted so he rested on his hands and knees, presenting Thranduil with his backside. "Even when I was untouched, Thranduil, I never blushed."

The Prince leaned down and bit the swell of Glorfindel's buttocks while running his slick hand between the cleft. "Then I must simply try harder."

The Seneschal pushed back against Thranduil's hand. "Do not try, simply do!"

Thranduil let out a laugh and slid one finger into the tight passage of Glorfindel's body. The Elda gasped, but no sooner had the sound left his lips than the pressure ceased. He whimpered at the sudden emptiness, but Thranduil had thrust his finger forward once again before the cry had even been completed. Glorfindel pushed back, but Thranduil once again removed his finger.

"You are cruel!" Glorfindel glared over his shoulder at the Sinda.

Thranduil chuckled. "I've only begun, meleth." The Prince returned with two fingers this time and Glorfindel threw his head back and cried out. He quickly pumped his fingers, slicking the passage thoroughly. "Though I would like this to last much longer, Glorfindel, I do not think I can wait. I have waited months for this opportunity... I will be careful -- though I make no promises of being gentle."

Glorfindel could hear the smile in Thranduil's voice but all thought was lost when the thick length of his lover impaled him. "Ai!" he cried out, his need lost in Thranduil's groan of possession. They remained still for several moments, their ragged breathing the only sound in the cool light of dawn. "By the Valar, Thranduil," Glorfindel ground out. "Move!"

The Prince set a rapid pace, gripping Glorfindel's hips almost painfully. The Elda reached beneath himself and began to stroke his cock in a frantic motion, unable to hold back his release. The elder Elf's orgasm ripped through him and his body trembled uncontrollably. Glorfindel heard Thranduil's long moan and felt the liquid heat of the Prince's seed coat his passage. The Seneschal had never had such a complete sense of satisfaction as he did at that moment.

Thranduil pulled away from Glorfindel, resting for a moment on his knees. He was almost disappointed with how quickly the act had been, but the deep sense of contentment he felt negated the small inkling of regret.

The Elda kicked the soiled coverlet to the floor before falling to his side, a sweet smile lighting his face. "Come, let us rest for a few more hours," Glorfindel said, his blue eyes dancing in the gentle early-morning light. "I do believe you will need your strength for when I take you, pen-neth."

The Elf-prince laughed softly and joined Glorfindel, wrapping his arms around his lover tightly. "I am ready if you are, melethen."

Glorfindel nuzzled Thranduil's neck, sighing happily. "In a little while," he mumbled sleepily.

Thranduil shook his head. "In a little while I am sure Lord Elrond and a host from Lothlórien will be waiting outside your door, demanding your attention."

The Elf-lord wrapped his legs around Thranduil's, successfully pinning the Prince within his embrace. "Not even Manwe himself could pull me from this bed or your arms this day, ernilen."

"We shall see about that," Thranduil said softly, kissing Glorfindel's golden tresses before slipping into reverie.

*****

Lothvaen stood outside the door to Erestor's office. The office he had shared for so long now seemed foreign and imposing. Lothvaen took a deep breath and rapped sharply on the door.

A muffled voice called out to him. "Enter!"

The young Noldo walked into the well-appointed office and looked around. He still wasn't used to bypassing the Chief Councilor's study every morning. Lothvaen approached the large, heavy, cherry wood desk, his eyes focused on the stiff-backed Elf sitting behind the imposing piece of furniture. Lothvaen could not count the number of fantasies he had that involved one of them laying across the cool, smooth surface, the papers and quills strewn about the floor while they made passionate love.

Erestor cleared his throat. "Lord Lothvaen."

Lothvaen stared into the depths of Erestor's dark, bottomless gaze, trying to decide how to approach his former employer. "My Lord, I desire a word with you."

The Elf-lord put his quill down and sat back in his chair, folding his hands elegantly in his lap. "What would you like to discuss, my Lord?"

"I would like to discuss what happened between us, Erestor." Lothvaen dropped the pretense of formality and crossed his arms. "In your bathing chamber."

Erestor could feel the color drain from his face. "I do not know what there is to speak of, Lothvaen."

"Much, I would think. I desire you." The room dropped into silence and Lothvaen wondered if he had been too forward. "I have wanted you from the night I came to your rooms seeking the next volume of text I was to transcribe."

The Chief Councilor raised one eyebrow. "Three hundred years?"

Lothvaen nodded.

"That is a very long time, meldir," Erestor replied cautiously, afraid of where this conversation was leading.

"Indeed." Lothvaen stepped closer to the desk. "I want you to know that I did not pleasure you out of some twisted sense of duty."

Erestor shot to his feet, his chair falling to the floor loudly. "I do not wish to discuss this, Lothvaen. I would appreciate it if you left my office now." The elder Noldo's voice trembled and he cursed himself for showing such lack of control.

Lothvaen unconsciously advanced on Erestor, his brow furrowed with concern. "My Lord?"

Erestor continued to step back, his fists clenching and unclenching with anxiety. "Lothvaen, please," he replied, closing his eyes when his back came against the solid barrier of his office wall. "Leave."

The younger Elf quickly came around the desk, reaching out for the frightened Councilor. "I do not think I should leave, Erestor. These things need to be said." When Lothvaen's cool hand touched the flushed cheek of his former employer, he registered the shudder that shook the dark Elf's body. "Melon le, Erestor." Lothvaen's voice was barely a whisper as he spoke the words he had withheld for so many years.

Erestor's dark eyes flew open and his face contorted with rage. The scream that erupted from the Elf-lord's throat tore through Lothvaen, the raw, primal quality of the sound terrifying him with its intensity. "No!" Erestor brought his hand right hand up and grasped Lothvaen's wrist in a painfully tight grip. Erestor coiled his muscles, and with his right hand, gave a powerful shove to Lothvaen's chest, releasing the younger Elf's own right hand in the process. The force of Erestor's thrust was such that the stunned Noldo flew over the desk and landed most of the way across the room from the fuming Councilor.

The Elf-lord's rage did not ease with the source of his apprehension now across the room. Erestor's heart pounded and he stalked to his desk. He gripped the edge of the massive piece of furniture and flung it away from him, sending the contents of his desk flying: ink staining the pale carpet, quills fluttering to the floor, and papers becoming smeared when the flask of water on his desk shattered.

Erestor flung his robes off in one swift movement, revealing the same basic tunic and leggings Lothvaen had seen the day Erestor bested Thranduil on the practice field. A glint of the late morning light reflecting off a metal surface brought Lothvaen's wide, terrified eyes up to the intimidating sight before him. Erestor had wedged himself into the corner farthest from his former employee and held in his hands a long knife. Lothvaen didn't want to know where the wild Elf had kept the blade.

Lothvaen jumped to his feet in fear when the door to the office swung open, banging loudly against the wall. "Erestor!" the Lord of Imladris called from the doorway. Elrond and Lindir rushed into the room, both stopping short when faced with the destruction of the room. Elrond's grey eyes fell on Lothvaen. "Where is he, Lothvaen?" he asked, his voice even and calm.

The young Noldo pointed to the corner. "There."

Elrond saw his dear friend cowering in the corner, his eyes large with fright and shining with tears. "Oh, meldir," he whispered. "I thought we were over this." Elrond removed his robes and motioned to Lindir. "Close the door, keep everyone away from here. Do not speak of this to anyone." Lindir nodded and left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

Lothvaen caught his breath and flexed his arm, wincing when a sharp pain raced up to his shoulder. "What in Morgoth's name just happened, my Lord?" Lothvaen started to walk toward Elrond but a whimper from the corner stopped him.

The Peredhel held up his hand. "Stay there, Lothvaen. He will kill you if you come too close to him." For a moment Lothvaen thought Elrond wasn't being serious, but the stern expression in his eyes told Lothvaen all he needed to know.

Elrond slowly made his way to Erestor, avoiding the broken glass and ink. "Erestor," said softly. "Erestor, give me the knife." Elrond's heart tightened when the large, lost eyes looked up at him. "Now, Erestor." The trembling Elf dropped the blade to the floor, burying his face into his arms resting atop his drawn-up knees. Elrond kicked the weapon aside and sat down in front of his friend, whispering to him in Quenya. Long minutes passed and finally Erestor inched away from his position against the wall and slithered into Elrond's open embrace.

"He has these episodes," Elrond said suddenly to Lothvaen, stroking Erestor's raven locks. "I thought they had subsided, but it seems they have resurfaced."

Lothvaen crept closer to the pair on the floor, but Erestor seemed to sense his presence and recoiled slightly in Elrond's arms. "Stay behind the desk, Lothvaen," Elrond commanded.

"My Lord?" Lothvaen wrung his hands nervously, watching the huddled creature that he no longer recognized as Erestor.

"Erestor? Mellonen? Come now; let us go to your rooms. Wouldn't you feel better there?" Elrond's tone was as if he were speaking to a child and Lothvaen's confusion just deepened. Erestor nodded weakly and Elrond looked up. "Please, go to his rooms and wait for us there, Lothvaen. We will be up shortly."

Lothvaen did the only thing he could do: he nodded and left the room, his head spinning with this new facet of Erestor.

*****

Elrond sent Erestor into his room and walked to the room beside his Councilor's suite. He knocked on Glorfindel's door and tapped his foot impatiently. Hearing stifled laughter and quiet speaking, his eyebrow lifted in curiosity. Elrond knocked again, and this time he heard curses and thumping before the door opened and Glorfindel stood before him, bed-rumpled and flushed.

"My Lord," the Elda said, bowing his head slightly.

"Glorfindel." Elrond smiled at the disheveled Seneschal. "I wondered if you planned on seeing to your duties this day?"

Glorfindel cleared his throat. "I mean no disrespect, Elrond, but... unless there is a Balrog standing in the main courtyard of the Last Homely House, I will be otherwise engaged for the day." The blond Elf flashed his Lord a shining smile.

"Have you seen Prince Thranduil? He has not come down for breakfast." Elrond had a pretty good idea where Thranduil was, but he wanted to see Glorfindel squirm.

The Elda cleared his throat. "Thranduil? I am... uncertain... I..."

Elrond chuckled. " _I_ am certain, meldir, that you know exactly where the wayward Prince is. Very well, I suppose the two of you have earned a day of rest."

"Hannon le, mellonen," Glorfindel said, bowing slightly.

Elrond waved him back into his rooms. "Go, enjoy yourself, meldir."

The door closed and Elrond's mood darkened once more. Erestor. The Half-Elf entered his friend's chambers without knocking and found Erestor reclining on his bed with his eyes closed. Lothvaen was nowhere to be seen.

"Erestor? Where is Lothvaen?" Elrond looked around the luxuriant room, seeking his newest Councilor. Before Erestor could reply, though, Lothvaen came into the room bearing a tray of simple cheeses and tea. "Ah," Elrond said. "A lovely idea."

"Elrond," Erestor said weakly. "I think Lothvaen and I should speak." The Chief Councilor opened his eyes wearily, blinking in the bright light of his room. "Alone."

The Elf-lord nodded and smiled encouragingly at his friend. "I am but a room away, meldir." Elrond walked to Erestor's side, leaning in to place a loving kiss on the distraught Elf's forehead.

Lothvaen had poured Erestor a cup of the herbal tea and watched the interaction between the Peredhel and the Elf. He could sense their affection, the deep trust Erestor shared with Elrond. Lothvaen felt a tug of longing within his breast, wanting to have Erestor trust him as he did Elrond. The young Elf hoped he still had the opportunity. After the outburst Erestor had had that morning, Lothvaen feared his former employer would never allow him into his heart.

Elrond left quietly, and Lothvaen brought Erestor the steaming cup of tea. Erestor looked up into Lothvaen's wine-colored eyes and sighed. "Sit, Lothvaen. If you have decided you love me, then there are things you need to know about who I am and the things I have done in my long life." Erestor turned his gaze from the open, expectant face of Lothvaen. "When I am done, then we shall see if you love me still."

End Chapter Seven

English/Elvish:  
*Maer aur, pen-vuil : Good morning, beloved  
*Melethen : My love  
*Ernilen : My Prince  
*Pen-neth : Young one  
*Melon le : I love you  
*Mellonen : My friend


	8. Chapter Seven

Imladris, Echuir - 1921 of the Second Age

"When I am done, then we shall see if you love me still." Erestor rearranged himself on the bed, sipping the warm tea and willing the tension to leave his body.

Lothvaen swallowed visibly. "If you are simply telling me these things due to my affection for you, then there is no reason to continue. I will only hear what you have to say if you tell me because you desire me, as I desire you." Erestor did not immediately respond, and as the minutes dragged on, Lothvaen thought he would not answer at all.

"You know I desire you," Erestor said at last, in a voice barely above a whisper.

"Then I would hear what it is you need to tell me." Lothvaen settled into the plush chair, drawing his legs up to his chest. Erestor mentally chuckled when the younger Noldo wrapped his arms around his legs. He looked like a child in his large robes and with his chin resting on his knees.

"I was born in Aman," Erestor began simply. "It is a bright, gleaming memory that becomes more blurred when I attempt to focus on it. I was but a toddler when my Adar brought me with him." He watched Lothvaen closely, but saw no glimmer of surprise. Erestor felt a slight pounding in his temples and finished his tea, hoping the herbal infusion would aid his headache. "You knew I was from Aman."

Lothvaen cleared his throat. "I sought assistance from Lord Elrond. He spoke of your origins. He told me you were born in Aman, were the son of Amras, and that you dwelled with Celegorm and Curufin for some time. You were sent to Maedhros to dwell with him until you left with Gil-galad for the Isle of Balar."

"But he did not tell you why I was sent to live with Maedhros?" Erestor's whole countenance exuded unease.

The younger Elf shook his head. "Nay, he said it was your story to tell, not his."

"So it is," was the stiff reply. Erestor looked down at his hands. "Yes, I traveled with my Ata'da, Adar and his brothers. I was but eighteen years of age when we set foot in Mithrim, but my hands were already covered in the blood of my kin."

Lothvaen's eyes darkened in the silence of the room. He allowed the words to sink in and realized their implication. "Kin... slayer?"

The Chief Councilor looked up with unfathomable eyes and said flatly, "My first kill was a Teler not much older than myself at the time. Ata'da had left those who had rebelled with us behind; Celebrimbor and I were terrified of those we had loved all our lives. We were also ashamed of ourselves." Erestor stretched out his legs and pulled the folded coverlet over his lap. "You know of Fëanor's death; of the siege we attempted on Angband and of Maedhros' captivity. All these things had little impact on my life then; I went where I was told and did as I was bid. When Adar and his siblings were given East Beleriand as their own, they split up. Amrod and Ada were weary of bloodshed, though, and sought the refuge of the green woods. They did not feel that I was old enough to be sundered from the rest of my family and other Elves. Amrod suggested they send me to Curufin; he was raising Celebrimbor on his own, after all.

"I was forty when I rode into Curufin's lands. My uncles welcomed me with open arms and my cousin was pleased to have one of his own age close by. And the arrangement worked to my benefit as my uncles were eager to train me in warfare." Erestor chuckled ruefully. "It seems I excelled at the subject. Months went by and the hurt I felt at my Adar's decision to send me to my relatives had lessened. I was happy. But, my uncles had begun to change. I was ten years away from my majority and I had begun to drawn attention from other Elves..." Erestor shifted uncomfortably. "It started small, you see. At first, I didn't know anything had really changed. Curufin and Celegorm would playfully smack my buttocks as I walked by or embrace me a little longer than they should have. Slowly, the swats became intentional, lingering touches."

Lothvaen's eyes widened as he took in the meaning of Erestor's words. His mind refused to accept the course that Erestor's childhood was suddenly taking.

"You must understand, Lothvaen. I never told them to stop. I never once spoke against the actions of my uncles. The veiled touches intensified when Caranthir came for an extended visit with his brothers." Erestor wrapped his arms around his waist and closed his eyes, trembling with memory. "He was the first to lay a hand on me in lust. I will not go into the details of the encounter since it is not important. What is important is that he brought me to orgasm with his hand and then expected me to do the same." The Councilor opened his eyes and took in the shocked expression on his former employee's face. "And I did as I was bid."

"You were but a child, my Lord!" Lothvaen cried out, feeling anger for his friend.

Erestor shook his head. "I knew it was wrong, but I did not stop him."

Lothvaen bit back his response, knowing that the guilt and self-loathing were long ingrained in the Councilor and nothing he said would alter the elder Noldo's perception.

"It was Celegorm who took the next step. Only a month later, they grew bored with the new game. I was passing through the main hall when Celegorm pressed me against the wall, kneeling before me to pleasure me with his mouth." Erestor's eyes met Lothvaen's. "When he was done, he looked up expectantly at me."

The younger Elf's face lost all its color. What Erestor had described was what had happened between them in the bathing chamber, though Lothvaen would not have pressured Erestor to perform the act simply because it was done to him. Lothvaen opened his mouth to protest that his intent had not been to manipulate the Councilor so he had to pleasure him, but the raven-haired Noldo had averted his eyes again and continued his tale.

"An extended visit," Erestor said, sarcasm dripping from his words. "Caranthir was still in residence when I celebrated my forty-third year. They felt they were being generous in not expecting me to reciprocate the sexual favors they bestowed. My body was a traitor. No matter how many times I told myself I would no longer allow the brothers to slake themselves with me, my body always betrayed me." Erestor changed his position, sitting cross-legged and wringing his hands.

"I went to bed early that night. After all, I was exhausted. I'd only just fallen into reverie when my bedroom door opened."

~~~~~~~~~~

Erestor's eyes came into focus and he jumped back, startled. His uncle was crouching next to his bed, smiling hungrily at him.

"Pen-neth," Celegorm whispered. "I think it's time you learned a new game."

The Elfling shook his head and crept backwards in the bed until his slender back came up against the cool wood of the headboard.

"Melon le, Erestor... Do I not have your love as well?"

Erestor nodded. Of course he loved his uncles; they had taken care of him. If it hadn't been for them, he would have had nowhere to go. And he adored his cousin and if he didn't do as he was told, they might send him away from the only home he had ever truly known.

"Lie down, pen-dithen." Celegorm's voice was low and sultry, but Erestor could do nothing but shake as he slid down on his bed sheets. "Maer." Celegorm's eyes hungrily raked over Erestor's lithe frame, still developing the muscle tone that he and his brothers had long ago acquired. The elder Noldo reached out, undid the tie at the waist of Erestor's sleeping trousers, and slid the silk down the slender hips.

"Bainwain. Now, lift your legs. Aye, hêndir vaer."

Erestor knew his face had to be glowing red with his humiliation, being presented in such a way. His body continued to tremble, uncertain what his uncle would do.

"Be still, pen-neth," his uncle warned, and Erestor nodded, biting his lip in apprehension.

Celegorm opened a small phial and dipped the length of one thick finger into the liquid. Erestor's body tensed when he felt the cold, slick digit touch his rear. "Tôr-en-adan!" he said, his voice quivering with fear.

Celegorm continued to stroke the Elfling's rear passage. "Hush, Erestor. You know I am doing this because I love you." Celegorm smiled sweetly at the frightened figure.

Love. If he loved his uncle he would permit this. His uncle loved him and this was how he expressed that love. It was just one more game in many -- he could be good and still and quiet. When the finger slid into his untried body, Erestor let out a keening wail of pain and clamped his legs closed.

"No! Tôr-en-adan, no!" Erestor squirmed up the bed, tears flowing freely. "No," he whimpered pathetically. Celegorm grabbed Erestor's thighs and pried them apart.

"Be still, pen-neth. I do not wish to hurt you, but you will leave me no choice if you do not stop this struggling." Erestor let out a loud sob and stared at the ceiling. Celegorm brushed his cheek. "Melon le. Uireb."

Celegorm returned to his task, sliding his finger back into the pulsing, tight passage and groaning with need above his nephew. Erestor held his breath, willing himself to be brave and strong; his uncle loved him. When Celegorm added a second finger, not waiting for the little body to relax any, Erestor could be still no longer.

"Tôr-en-adan, please..." he cried, trying to move away from the painful intrusion. When Celegorm began to move his fingers within him, Erestor let out a scream of fright and pain, calling out for someone, anyone, to save him.

"Hush, hêndir, or this will become infinitely more difficult for you." When Erestor still would not stop his shrieking, Celegorm raised his hand to strike the violently shaking Elfling beneath him.

Suddenly, Celegorm found his hand pierced through with a small dagger. He let out a loud cry, pulled away from his nephew, and looked to the door. There stood his wide-eyed brothers, looking on the scene with obvious shock.

"Celegorm," Caranthir said, his tone low and deadly. "Leave this room."

The third son of Fëanor stood, holding his impaled hand close to his chest. He glared at his brothers and then turned his angry, hungry eyes on the sobbing heap half-naked on the bed. Caranthir slammed the door closed after his elder brother and watched his younger brother ease himself onto the bed, attempting to pull the child into his lap.

"No!" Erestor screamed, lashing out with his legs and fists. Curufin had the struggling Elfling quickly immobilized and whispered gentle words, lulling Erestor into a troubled half-sleep.

"He cannot remain here, melethron," whispered Caranthir. "If he stays, Celegorm will despoil him."

Curufin looked up, his eyes shining with guilt. "Have we not already sullied him with our desires?"

Caranthir sat behind his brother, holding him close as Curufin rocked their nephew in his arms. "Celegorm will take him and leave nothing of our vibrant child, Curufin. Erestor must go. So should Celebrimbor. Your son may return once our brother has departed, but Erestor should not."

"Amras should have never trusted us with his child, melethen." Curufin kissed Erestor's furrowed brow and sighed. "They will leave tomorrow."

~~~~~~~~~

Lothvaen wiped tears from his eyes. "May I sit with you, my Lord?" he asked quietly.

Erestor raised a tear-stained face and barely nodded.

The younger Noldo unfolded himself from the chair, removing his formal robe as he made his way to the bed. Once he was comfortably attired in his undershirt and leggings, he motioned for Erestor to stand. When the Councilor looked at him warily, Lothvaen smiled mildly. "All I wish to do is hang your robes up, meldir. Nothing more."

Erestor chided himself and stood. Lothvaen was not Celegorm... he was not Caranthir or Curufin. He allowed Lothvaen to remove his robes and watched his former employee dutifully hang them in the wardrobe. Erestor sat back down on the mattress, moving closer to the center of the massive bed and making room for Lothvaen. When they were both comfortably seated, Erestor hung his head, hiding his face behind the curtain of his hair. "I was sent with Celebrimbor to Maedhros. Maglor was there, visiting his brother, and they welcomed us. Curufin had sent a messenger ahead of us, announcing our arrival, but my uncle had not told his brothers the reason he was sending us to foster with him for an undefined length of time.

"When Maedhros attempted to hug me, though, I fell to the floor and hugged myself close... I was crying uncontrollably. Maglor tried to calm me, telling Maedhros to find a Healer, but I was inconsolable. Maedhros made Celebrimbor tell him the reason for our trip to him and he raged about his brothers for days. I feared he was angry with me, but after those first days, I knew I was safe. Maedhros and Maglor were the most kind-hearted of all the brothers. But for the Oath of Fëanor, they would have been truly great." Erestor jumped when Lothvaen reached out to take his hand. The contact was comforting, though, and Erestor smiled shyly and relaxed. "Life went on for many years after that. I learned diplomacy with Maedhros and tactics with Maglor. I thrived under their care and I loved them without remorse or guilt. I was almost to my fifth century when I rode out with my uncles to defend Beleriand."

"The Siege of Angband." Lothvaen's voice held a note of awe and Erestor chuckled.

"Aye. Maglor finally joined us permanently in Himring while Caranthir fled to my Adar's lands. Eventually, I was faced with my uncles when we all fought in the Nirnaeth Arnoediad. We escaped that battle without serious injury, but we were forced to flee to the East. Maedhros took as many as he could, but our numbers were diminished and our hearts were heavy. I was forced to wander with my uncles. I could always feel Celegorm's eyes upon me. He was never allowed a moment alone with me, though I doubt he could have had his way with me at that point. I had passed five hundred years and I was a battle- hardened warrior. He would have died had he laid a finger upon me in lust." Erestor's voice had taken on a cold and hard edge, his grip on Lothvaen's hand increasing in pressure.

"We wandered for over thirty years, learning the ways of the Wood Elves in the dense areas of Ered Lindon. My Adar rarely spoke to me. I barely knew the wild, fey creatures the twins had become while living with the feral Elves in the wood realms. But, they were called by their cursed oath and I followed my uncles to Menegroth and fought my kin once more. Caranthir, Curufin and Celegorm fell then. I cannot say I mourned their deaths, but I mourned the loss of so many Elven lights..." Erestor's words trailed off and a tear fell from his eye. When he spoke again, his voice thick with remorse.

"Almost three decades later, in Sirion, I found myself again in the same position. We descended upon them in droves." Erestor turned shining eyes to his companion. "This was no battle -- it was a slaughter. I watched as women and children were cut down before my eyes. I just... could not do it anymore. Elwing ran even while her children were captured. Seeing the shattered look in her eyes as she fled, I knew I could take up arms against my kin no more. That was when I made a decision that has haunted me for millennia."

~~~~~~~~~

"What are you doing?!" Amras stood tall, his eyes wild with a rage Erestor could not understand.

"I will do this no more!" Erestor stood before a small group of Elves, protecting them from his father.

Amras advanced on his son. "You will turn aside, Erestor!"

Erestor gripped his sword with both his hands, panting with the exertion of fighting. "I. Will. Not."

"You are my son and will do as I say!" Amras lifted his sword to strike at Erestor.

"I stopped being your son the day you left me with your brothers. And when I send you to Mandos, you can ask them why." Silence rang in Erestor's ears as he lunged forward, his blade slicing through his father's stomach in a single, unhesitating motion. When Amras fell to his knees, looking up with confusion and pain, Erestor pulled his bloody sword from his father's body. The light left Amras' eyes and Erestor turned back to defending his charges, unwilling to let harm come to the people of Sirion.

~~~~~~~~~

"I hoped that I had washed away some of the death on my hands by cleansing them in the blood of my father." Erestor's shoulders slumped and he let out a long breath. "I helped Maglor raise Elrond and Elros. I had to repent somehow. Elrond and I have always been close. He knows all of me. I loved Elros as well, but he was so different from Elrond... The rest, you know. My life has been relatively uneventful since. I served Gil-galad; now I serve Elrond." Erestor lifted his head and tucked his hair behind his ear. "So you see why it is I cannot love you and why you should not love me."

Lothvaen turned his head sharply and stared disbelievingly at Erestor. "It is too late for 'should's and 'should not's. I love you, and that is not going to change." To emphasis his point, Lothvaen squeezed Erestor's hand gently.

Erestor snatched his hand away and turned to face Lothvaen. "How?" he demanded. "How can you say such a thing knowing the acts I have committed?"

"That was many years ago, meleth. I did not know the Erestor you speak of, but the Erestor I do know I love deeply." Lothvaen pushed his frustration down, knowing how badly Erestor needed patience and understanding now.

Erestor just looked at the younger Elf, unconvinced of Lothvaen's sincerity. He was speechless for the first time in many years, not knowing how to respond to such a statement.

Lothvaen chuckled. "Did you think I would love you any less for the things you have done or had done to you? In fact, Erestor, I love you more knowing how much you have survived. You are an amazing Elf. Never think differently." The young Councilor lifted his hand to brush Erestor's cold cheek reassuringly.

The Chief Councilor stopped himself from flinching at the touch, forcing himself to remain still.

"Lesser Elves have grieved themselves to Mandos from half of what you have endured. But, you have a strength and, if I may say," Lothvaen smiled, "A certain stubbornness that has allowed you to go on. How is that unworthy of love?" He slowly stroked Erestor's cheek with his thumb and moved closer to the silent Elf.

Erestor shifted his position, putting more space between himself and Lothvaen. "You are a romantic and you misunderstand. I remain here out of fear that I will be forced to share my Ata'da's fate."

Lothvaen shook his head. "I think that's what you have told yourself, and you might even believe it. But the truth is, you always found something here that needed doing. Elrond and Elros needed to be raised, Gil-galad needed to be advised and Imladris needed to be founded. That's all over now. It's time you took care of yourself instead of everyone else, my Lord."

Tears formed in Erestor eyes and his voice cracked when he spoke. "It's... hard."

"Yes, it's hard." Lothvaen moved close once more, taking both of Erestor's hands in his own. "But, you are Chief Councilor Erestor of Imladris. You, single-handedly, keep Elrond and Glorfindel from killing one another. You put Prince Thranduil in his place with a flick of your wrist! Coming to terms with your inner demons should be nothing compared to those feats." Lothvaen smiled brightly at Erestor, bringing the Councilor's hands to his lips and kissing them gently.

Erestor laughed through his tears and shook his head. "I suppose I must concede your point, meldir."

Lothvaen released one hand and wiped at Erestor's damp cheeks. "No more tears. No more guilt," he said softly.

Erestor took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He felt drained and limp; he wanted to lie down and let dreams wash away his mental fatigue.

The younger Noldo watched Erestor's eyes focus and unfocus and he smiled affectionately at him. "I believe it is time for you to retire, my Lord." Lothvaen stood from the bed and pulled Erestor closer to the side of the mattress. He placed his hands on the first button of Erestor's shirt and looked questioningly at the Elf-lord. Erestor simply nodded and Lothvaen quickly removed the garment.

Lothvaen pulled back the bedding and watched Erestor settle in, lying on his side with his eyes half-lidded. Lothvaen knelt next to him and leaned in, kissing Erestor softly and chastely, before standing to leave. "Fuin vaer, hîren." The violet-eyed Elf snuffed the candles and turned one lamp down low before walking away from the bed.

As he was opening the door, he heard a muffled plea from the bed. "Daro ah nin."

Lothvaen smiled. "Aye, hîren." He brought the chair he had been sitting in close to Erestor's bedside and sat, shifting until he was comfortable. Erestor reached out from beneath his blanket and looked up to Lothvaen's face with a raw expression of need. Lothvaen took hold of Erestor's proffered hand and stroked the inside of the Councilor's wrist with his thumb.

"Melon le, Lothvaen."

The young Councilor watched Erestor's eyes grow vacant and he sighed deeply. "Idho mae. Hebithon in roeg o le."

End Chapter Eight

English/Elvish:  
*Pen-neth : Young one  
*Pen-dithen : Little one  
*Hêndir vaer : Good boy (lit. male child good)  
*Tôr-en-adan : Brother of my father (Uncle)  
*Uireb : Eternal  
*Hêndir : Boy (male child)  
*Melethron : Male lover  
*Melethen : My love  
*Meleth : Love  
*Fuin vaer, hîren : Good night, my Lord  
*Daro ah nin : Stay with me  
*Hîren : My Lord  
*Idho mae. Hebithon in roeg o le. : Sleep well. I will keep the demons from you.


	9. Chapter Eight

Imladris, Iavas - 1921 of the Second Age

Thranduil stretched, closing his eyes against the harsh light of morning. The Prince rolled over and stretched out his hand, seeking the warmth of his bed partner. When his open palm only met with the mattress, he sat up looking about the cheerfully decorated chambers.

The Sinda had moved into Glorfindel's quarters four months previously, though he had spent every night of the last six months in the Seneschal's bed. Thranduil threw back the coverlet, slid from the silken sheets, and quickly walked to the bathing chamber. He stood nude in the doorway, looking at the golden vision relaxing in the steamy water. "You left me again," he said, smiling when Glorfindel's eyes snapped open.

Glorfindel returned his lover's grin. "You know that if you wake when I do, you will demand to bathe with me and I will be late for the patrol." Glorfindel raised an eyebrow. "Again."

Thranduil slid into the water, sitting opposite Glorfindel. "You never seem to complain at the time, melethen."

"No, but I have a duty." Glorfindel crossed his arms over his slick chest and stared accusingly at Thranduil.

"As do I, but I allow concessions for your pleasures, my Lord." Thranduil covered the small distance between them, his voice dripping with seduction and his eyes turning dark with lust.

Glorfindel's voice trembled slightly as Thranduil situated himself on the Elda's lap, awakening his desire and setting his blood aflame. "My pleasure?" Despite the constraints on his time, Glorfindel wrapped his arms around the Elf-prince's waist, pulling him closer. "Do you derive no pleasure for yourself?"

Thranduil's lips were mere inches from Glorfindel's and he breathed his reply against the soft petals of his lover's mouth. "I derive great pleasure, my Lord." To emphasize his point, Thranduil thrust himself against the Elf-lord, bring their rigid desires into contact.

"I will be late if we continue this, pen-neth." Glorfindel greatly desired to remain in the pool with the slick and wanton Elf-prince, but he did have his duties and he had shirked them enough in the passing months. "As much as I may wish to have you this morn, we must postpone our activities until tonight."

The Prince smiled wickedly. "You would deny me?" he asked, leaning in and nipping at Glorfindel's lower lip, causing Glorfindel to groan. The Sinda licked delicately at the slightly swollen flesh and waited for his lover's answer.

Glorfindel's eyes were heavy-lidded and he smiled up at his impish lover. "I can deny you nothing, melethron." Glorfindel brought his hand up to grip the base of Thranduil's head and brought their lips together in a brutal, frenzied kiss. After a long and thorough exploration of Thranduil's mouth, Glorfindel pulled back and looked into the glazed eyes of his young lover. "Besides, I am the Seneschal. When I arrive for duty is my prerogative."

Thranduil laughed and dipped his head for another kiss while Glorfindel pulled them out of the water. He settled himself on the edge of the large, sunken basin and sat Thranduil in front of him. The Sinda leaned back against his lover's chest and looked up into Glorfindel's eyes. Glorfindel reached to the side of the tub and grabbed a small jar of thick salve, ravaging the Prince's mouth while rubbing himself against the cleft of Thranduil's buttocks.

The Sinda broke the kiss and smiled at Glorfindel, feeling the movement of the Elda's hand against his back as Glorfindel stroked himself with the stiff cream. Thranduil's cock twitched, anticipating Glorfindel's slick, warm finger. The two Elves adored the times when they could indulge in lovemaking while in the bath. Glorfindel had perfected a solidified oil they used that continued to lubricate the way, even in the water.

Glorfindel quickly prepared Thranduil, watching his lover's face with rapt attention. Thranduil's hands gripped the elder Elf's knees, and Glorfindel took in the sight of Thranduil slowly grinding against his fingers. Glorfindel did not think there was ever such an erotic sight as Thranduil: head thrown back, flushed and panting his need. "Si?" Glorfindel asked, bringing Thranduil's attention back to him.

"Si." Thranduil shifted on Glorfindel's lap, turning his back to the Elda as he positioned himself over the rigid length of Glorfindel's desire. He sat quickly, shocking both him and the Seneschal, the sensation causing them to both cry out in the small, echoing space. Thranduil's breaths came in short, pained staccato bursts and he clenched his eyes shut while adjusting to the intrusion.

The Seneschal rested his head on Thranduil's damp back and willed himself not to thrust up into the Prince's tight heat, burying his length further. Thranduil?" he asked, his voice strained and tight. When he received no answer, he leaned forward and saw tears slowly make their way down the red cheeks of his fair Sinda. He cupped Thranduil's chin and spoke more insistently. "Thranduil? Melethen?"

"Daro, Glorfindel," Thranduil whimpered. He had not thought the sudden penetration would be so painful! The Prince took several long breaths, slowly opened his eyes and looked over his shoulder into the deep wells of concern Glorfindel's azure eyes had become. "Non mae." Thranduil smiled at his lover and shifted, allowing Glorfindel to slip further into him. He let his head fell back, revealing the long column of his neck to Glorfindel's eager mouth.

Once Glorfindel was sure Thranduil was ready, and he had reawakened his Prince's desire, he slipped them back into the warm water. Glorfindel enjoyed the bath because it allowed Thranduil to gently rock in his lap. The deep, slow penetration would bring them to a shattering climax every time.

"Ulagor, ernilen..." Glorfindel cautioned, angling his hips up as Thranduil ground down on his lap, pushing his shaft deeper into the Prince.

Thranduil nodded slightly and slowly rotated his hips, groaning when Glorfindel's hand grasped his cock and stroke in time with the pace of their thrusts. Glorfindel twisted his hand in the long locks of Thranduil's hair, and the Prince let out a sharp cry as his head was pulled back further.

Glorfindel plundered his mouth and thrust more sharply, causing the water to slosh slightly. He mirrored every push of his hips with a thrust of his tongue into the sweet cavern of Thranduil's willing mouth. The Elda took the weight of Thranduil upon him, allowing the Elf in his lap to lie against his chest. This gave Glorfindel the ability to withdraw further, using longer strokes both within the Prince's passage and on his hard length.

The younger Elf brought his hands up and back, gripping Glorfindel's neck as his body was repeatedly breached and he was driven closer and closer to his release. "Glorfindel," he panted against the slick skin of Glorfindel's neck.

The Elda chuckled. "Aye, gellen?"

"Ir iâ na tolel, Hîren." Thranduil's eyes were closed and his head lolled on Glorfindel's shoulder, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

Glorfindel hissed in Thranduil's ears as his groin tightened with impending release. "Tolo! Si, Thranduil!" He squeezed his hand around Thranduil's cock, milking the shaft and pulling the Prince's orgasm from him.

Thranduil cried out, his whole body tensing as he spent himself over Glorfindel's hand, his fluids mixing with the soapy water. As soon as his body clenched, he felt Glorfindel's seed fill him, the deep, long moan issuing from his lover causing shudders to travel down his spine.

The room was filled with gasps and gentle words as the two Elves came down from their sensual high. Thranduil turned his head and smiled sleepily at Glorfindel. "Hannon le."

Glorfindel nodded his head and brought his lips to Thranduil's in a brief kiss. "Now, off me so I may finish my bath and be off to perform my duties for Lord Elrond."

Thranduil moved off Glorfindel's lap and dipped his head under the water, wetting his hair thoroughly. When he resurfaced, he smiled brightly. "Do you think you could perform again so quickly?"

The Seneschal rolled his eyes and splashed water at the laughing Elf-prince. "Out!"

*****

Erestor turned the lamp down low and disrobed. The early autumn breeze wafted through the open balcony doors, and Erestor smiled. He did not know such peace as when he stood, nude, inhaling the refreshing night air. The Councilor could say, with all certainty, that he was happy. It had been too long since he had felt so content and so at ease with himself.

The Noldo turned from the view of the vast woodland of Imladris, slid beneath the crisp white sheets, and rested his head on the soft down pillow. He faced away from the balcony, staring at the empty space beside him. A frown marred Erestor's usually serene expression. He missed Lothvaen. The younger Elf had been the catalyst in his life; he had upended everything Erestor knew and expected to be thanked for it. The plum-eyed Councilor had captured Erestor's heart and never offered apologies. Erestor sighed and rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling.

"Did you miss me, melethen?"

The soft, gentle voice flowed through Erestor and soothed his heart. Lothvaen stood just inside Erestor's chamber door with his hands clasped in front of him, smiling sweetly at the Councilor.

Erestor sat up and the sheet fell to his lap, barely covering his nudity. "Always," he breathed, his liquid eyes almost black in the near-darkness.

Lothvaen slowly crossed the room to the empty side of the bed, his eyes never leaving Erestor's as he slowly undressed. Once his clothing had been folded neatly, he slipped into the wide bed next to his timid bed partner. "Erestor, you should lie down and rest," he said quietly, lying down on his side to face the stiff figure beside him.

Over the passing months, this had become their ritual. Erestor would retire, though his state of dress while in bed depended on his mood, and Lothvaen would join him -- copying his love's choice of clothing. Lothvaen did everything within his ability to make Erestor feel at ease. He had not repeated the events in the bathing chamber that seemed like Ages ago, but he also had not ceased touching Erestor altogether. Slowly, Erestor had opened his heart to Lothvaen, but they had yet to consummate the relationship.

Lothvaen spent every night in Erestor's bed, but he did nothing more than hold the elder Elf, which was perfectly fine with both of them.

Tonight, though, Lothvaen sensed something was not right with Erestor. He reached out and ran his hand over the smooth, pale skin of Erestor's back and felt a slight tremble course through the elder Noldo. Lothvaen sat up immediately and turned Erestor's face to his. "Poicaquen?" he said softly, having adopted Glorfindel's affectionate name for Erestor. "What is it?"

Erestor took a deep breath and slowly let it out. "Melon le, Lothvaen." Lothvaen smiled sweetly and Erestor's heart sped at the sight. He would never tire of the look of pure bliss those words brought to Lothvaen's face.

"Melon le, bevae. Uireb." Lothvaen leaned in and slowly kissed Erestor. He always let Erestor pace their intimate moments. Lothvaen understood the Councilor's need for that control and he would do nothing to harm Erestor. Lothvaen opened his mouth when he felt the gentle touch of Erestor's tongue. The younger Noldo withdrew from Erestor lips and rested his forehead against Erestor's. "Si, îdho, Erestor."

Erestor shook his head slightly, his eyes never leaving Lothvaen's.

Lothvaen lifted an eyebrow. "No?"

"No."

The younger Councilor sat back and cocked his head to the side. "Would you like me to get you some tea or read to you?"

"No."

"Erestor," Lothvaen said, his good humor draining away. "What is it you want to do?"

"I want us to make love." Erestor's hand flew up to his mouth and he knew he turned several shades of red. How could he have just blurted out such a thing?

Lothvaen blinked slowly and looked skeptically at Erestor. "What did you just say?"

Erestor cleared his throat and moved closer on the bed to Lothvaen. "I said I want us to make love." He looked shyly at Lothvaen through thick, dark lashes.

The younger Noldo felt his groin stir with Erestor's words. "You jest." He watched Erestor closely. "You... do not jest."

The Councilor shook his head. Erestor reached out and grasped Lothvaen's semi-erect member. "No, I do not."

Lothvaen swallowed visibly. "Are you sure?"

"Lothvaen?"

"Aye, Erestor?"

"Hush." Erestor closed what little space was between them before he could lose his courage and captured Lothvaen's lips in a searing kiss. Erestor moaned softly when Lothvaen's hands came up to cup his cheeks and his lover deepened the kiss. The Chief Councilor fought down the urge to take control of the kiss; instead, he allowed Lothvaen to lay him back on the bed.

Lothvaen's heart was pounding within his breast. He had wanted this for three centuries, and now Erestor had asked. Lothvaen was determined to make the experience wonderful for Erestor, to wipe away all memories of what was once done to him. The younger Elf felt Erestor tremble in his embrace and he gently pulled back to look into his lover's eyes. "We do not have to do this, Erestor."

Erestor nodded. "I know. But I want you."

Lothvaen searched Erestor's gaze for something, anything, that would tell him not to proceed. Lothvaen's body screamed for him to simply take the Councilor, finally make him his, but his heart refused to hurt Erestor any more than he had already been. When he was satisfied that Erestor was sure of his decision, he dipped his head back down to sweetly tease the dark-eyed Noldo with his tongue as he moved to cover Erestor's body with his own. Lothvaen had never tasted one so sweet and he wanted to taste of Erestor's lips all night, but he moved away and trailed feathery kisses down the long column of Erestor's throat.

Erestor wove his fingers in the long, silken locks of Lothvaen's hair, arching his body against the lithe scholar's form above him. Erestor's heart ached with the gentleness Lothvaen expressed as he kissed down to his chest. He had never been touched as Lothvaen was touching him and he wanted to give everything he was to the beautiful Elf that had possessed his soul.

Lothvaen smiled against the heaving chest he was tasting. Erestor tasted as he smelled: of sharp ginger and refreshing citrus. "Melethen, you taste like one of Celebrian's pastries." He drew the small, peach disk on Erestor's chest into his mouth, gently nipping at the stiff bud.

"A pastry?" Erestor gasped, his hands tightening their hold in Lothvaen's hair.

The younger Noldo nodded as he laved a path across the well-sculpted chest to the other nipple and paid it the same attentions. Erestor's body was slender and strong, though not like Lord Glorfindel's. Glorfindel's upper body was broader from centuries of sword use; Erestor was slim all over. "Were you not a swordsman?" Lothvaen dragged his teeth down Erestor's stomach, chuckling when the Elf-lord spread his legs so Lothvaen could rest comfortably between his thighs.

Erestor's senses were overrun with pleasure as Lothvaen ran his hands softly up his thighs. "Aye."

Lothvaen licked the hollow of Erestor's hip. "Why are you not as broad as Lord Glorfindel or Lord Elrond?" Lothvaen finally turned his attentions on the weeping pillar of flesh he had longed to taste again.

"Broad?" Erestor asked distractedly when he felt hot breath ghost over his arousal.

"Aye, your shoulders are not those of a warrior who uses a sword." Lothvaen swiped his tongue over the engorged head of Erestor's arousal, savoring the unique flavor of his lover.

Erestor tensed when Lothvaen's tongue touched him, bringing him out of his haze of desire. "I use a lighter sword," he said, looking down at Lothvaen. "Maedhros taught me a different style than that used now, where our focus was the point work, not cutting down our opponents with brute force."

Lothvaen noticed that Erestor's body had become tight as a bowstring, but not due to arousal. "Meleth?"

"I--" Erestor shook his head, not knowing how to explain the confliction he felt.

Lothvaen moved to lie over Erestor once more and pulled him into a kiss. "Trust yourself to me, Erestor," he said softly against Erestor's lips. "I will not harm you and I will stop the moment you tell me to." He had wanted to include the fact he loved Erestor, but after hearing how Celegorm had used the words during his assault, Lothvaen bit his tongue.

Erestor nodded and looked into Lothvaen's violet eyes. His breath was taken away by the depth of love and concern he could see in the younger Elf's eyes and he felt the sting of tears. Erestor brought their mouths together again and kissed Lothvaen deeply.

When Lothvaen drew back, Erestor's eyes were glassy once more with smoldering desire. He made his way back down his lover's body, leaving a damp trail of kisses in his wake. After he returned to his original position, poised over Erestor's arousal, he looked up once more to his lover. He only continued when Erestor nodded his consent and Lothvaen quickly engulfed Erestor's length. Lothvaen, knowing Erestor would thrust, pressed the Councilor's hips into the soft mattress.

The elder Elf's back made a perfect arc as Lothvaen worked his shaft with immense skill. Erestor moaned and writhed on the bed, trying to thrust up into the wet heat but unable to with Lothvaen restraining him. His orgasm was fast approaching and Erestor attempted to stop Lothvaen from completing his task, but failed. His release washed over him in an intense wave and Erestor trembled while Lothvaen cleaned him.

Lothvaen did not wait for Erestor to come out of his post-passion haze. He reached to the bedside drawer and removed a phial of oil Elrond had given him. The young Councilor smirked to himself. Elrond had encouraged the relationship, counseling Erestor to give himself wholly to Lothvaen. "Erestor?" he asked, grabbing two pillows from the head of the bed.

"Hmm?" came the languid reply.

"I want you to lift your hips up."

Erestor regarded Lothvaen through heavy-lidded eyes. He could stop Lothvaen, he knew, by simply saying one word. He could put this moment off for a while longer, could use his hand to assuage Lothvaen's need. But, in his heart, he knew he could not. Lothvaen had been patient and loving, giving and understanding. Now, Erestor thought, it was time for _him_ to give. He lifted his hips off the bed and felt the cool fabric of the pillows Lothvaen slid beneath him.

"I will stop, melethen, if you ask me," Lothvaen said quietly, stroking the quivering thighs of his lover. "I do not wish to take you while you fear my actions."

"I wish for you to have me, Lothvaen," Erestor said, on the verge of tears. He was so full of love for the slight Elf touching him and he wanted to be possessed by him.

Lothvaen nodded and opened the phial. "I will try and be as gentle as possible. Just breathe deeply and trust me." Lothvaen poured a generous amount of fluid on his hand and reached out for the exposed opening to Erestor's body. When his finger touched the sensitive flesh, Erestor tensed noticeably and Lothvaen paused. "Continue?"

Erestor choked out a reply around his fear. "Continue." The finger slid past the muscle that endeavored to keep Lothvaen out and Erestor knew he was far too tense. Erestor groaned when Lothvaen took his length back into his mouth, slowly teasing it back to hardness. Erestor was sufficiently distracted, and he felt his body relax into the caresses Lothvaen bestowed.

The preparation seemed painstakingly slow to Lothvaen, but the younger Noldo found untapped reserves of patience to draw upon. He could tell Erestor was fighting to remain relaxed, but the task wasn't always easy. Lothvaen took special care to pause often to allow Erestor's body to adjust to the intrusion, warned Erestor each time he was about to do something new such as insert another finger, and asked Erestor at each step of the way if the older Elf was comfortable enough to proceed. The entire process took time, but the look of adoration and trust shining in Erestor's eyes was enough to make it time well spent.

By the time Lothvaen had his well-lubricated member positioned at the entrance to Erestor's body, the Councilor was once again trembling with desire. "Are you ready, melethen?" Lothvaen asked, kissing Erestor's lips, cheeks and neck.

Erestor nodded. He was as ready as he could be for this moment.

Lothvaen pushed forward, reining in his desire to simply push his way into the tightness of Erestor's welcoming body. He took great care, slowly sliding forward, inch by inch, watching his lover's face for any sign of discomfort.

Erestor had never expected the extreme sense of fullness as Lothvaen finally stilled within him. He had been anticipating pain, but Lothvaen had been sure to prepare him well and all he felt was the throb of Lothvaen's length and his own unabated desire. Erestor shifted his hips, moving against Lothvaen, and the Elf atop him moaned with the movement.

The younger Elf began to move, controlling his thrusts to prevent as much discomfort as he could. When Erestor began to meet him thrust for thrust, Lothvaen could hold himself back no longer. He made long, deep thrusts while stroking Erestor's shaft and whispering words of praise and love to the dark beauty that gave himself so completely to him.

Their mutual release came swiftly, and Lothvaen had never known a moment more perfect than when he filled Erestor, and Erestor's seed covered his hand. They lay panting and holding one another for several minutes, and when the lamp finally sputtered and the light died, Lothvaen separated himself from his lover's body. Lothvaen gingerly pulled the pillows from beneath Erestor and retrieved a cloth to clean them. When they were both comfortable and the evidence of their lovemaking had been wiped away, Lothvaen drew Erestor into his arms and kissed his forehead.

"Are you all right, Erestor?" he asked, relishing the sated and satisfied feeling he was experiencing in the wake of their intimacy.

Erestor looked up into Lothvaen's eyes and smiled blissfully. "Aye, melethen, I am well."

And, Erestor thought to himself, he truly was.

End Chapter Nine

English/Elvish:  
Iavas : Early Autumn  
Si? : Now?  
Non mae. : I am well.  
Ulagor : Slow  
Gellen : My joy  
Ir iâ na tolel. : The abyss is coming.  
Tolo! : Come!  
Hannon le. : I thank you.  
Melethen : My love  
Poicaquen : Pure one (Quenya)  
Melon le, bevae. Uireb. :I love you, too. Forever.  
Si, îdho. : Now, rest


	10. Chapter Nine

Imladris, Iavas - 1940 of the Second Age

Thranduil pulled Glorfindel through the Seneschal's chamber door. They were both breathless from the hours they had spent dancing in the main hall. The Prince was to set out for the Great Greenwood on the morrow and Lord Elrond had held a large feast in the royal's honor. It was only when Ithil had passed the highest point in the night sky that Thranduil had gently taken Glorfindel by the hand and slipped quietly away from the festivities.

Now they stood face to face, drenched in the pale light from the moon. Glorfindel cupped Thranduil's face with his hands and kissed him sweetly. After a lingering moment, Thranduil pulled back and smiled sadly at his lover.

"Twenty years, Glorfindel. Am I still a passing fancy to you?"

Glorfindel chuckled. "No, ernilen. You were never a passing fancy to me." The Elda brushed a tress of golden hair from Thranduil's face and sighed heavily. "I shall miss you."

Thranduil entwined his fingers with Glorfindel's, looking at their hands. "What now, my Lord?"

Glorfindel regarded the downcast eyes of his Prince and cocked his head quizzically. "What do you mean?"

The Sinda pulled away from Glorfindel and went to stand by the balcony doors. He had made a home in Imladris and he was loath to leave it. "Will you forget me as soon as I pass out of Imladris' borders?"

The Seneschal crossed the space separating them in three long strides and turned Thranduil to him sharply. "You think so little of me? Twenty years is no mere affair, even for those of us who do not mark the passing of time as men do."

"I will go back to Greenwood. You will remain in Imladris," Thranduil stated in a dead tone.

"That does not have to be the end of us, pen-velui," Glorfindel whispered, his lips ghosting over Thranduil's cheek. "We do not have to end."

Thranduil's eyes fluttered closed, his voice hitching when Glorfindel's hands slid down his sides. "Do we not?" he murmured, his lips brushing against Glorfindel's.

"No." Glorfindel stopped any further comments from his young lover by covering the Sinda's lips with his own, teasing Thranduil's lips apart and thrusting his tongue into the warm cavern. Glorfindel had never tasted one as sweet as his Prince and he could lose himself for hours simply kissing the Wood Elf.

Thranduil opened himself to the Elda, wrapping his arms around Glorfindel's neck and pulling their bodies closer together. Glorfindel slowly moved them to the large bed they had shared for two decades and gently lowered the blond Prince to the mattress. Only then did the Seneschal release the Sinda's lips. Glorfindel looked down at the beauty spread before him, the younger Elf's emerald eyes bright with passion. "You are the most beautiful sight I have ever beheld," he whispered.

"Glorfindel, we must talk of what will happen when Anor-- Oh!" Thranduil arched up against Glorfindel as the Elda suckled on the tender skin under his ear. He lost any sense of coherency when the Elda quickly removed the Prince's shirt, exposing Thranduil's chest to his questing hands.

"Hush, ernilen," Glorfindel teased, his hot breath against Thranduil's sensitive ear causing the younger Elf to shiver. The Seneschal dragged his tongue along the outside edge of Thranduil's ear, gently biting the pointed tip when he reached it. He would miss the feel of Thranduil against him as he was at this moment, but he pushed the melancholy thoughts aside and concentrated on his lover. "I am going to possess you this night, Thranduil," he said against the shell of the Prince's ear. "I am going to ensure you do not forget me."

Thranduil wanted to protest, to tell the Balrog-slayer that he could never forget what he had shared with him, but the words died in his throat when Glorfindel's hands untied his leggings. As the fabric was parted and his arousal was exposed, Glorfindel began leaving tiny marks along the column of the Sinda's neck with his teeth. Thranduil squirmed and raised his hands to touch the Elda.

Glorfindel grasped the young Elf's wrists in his hands and smiled down at the shocked green eyes. "Nay." He released Thranduil's wrists and went back to his task, slowly tasting all of Thranduil's exposed skin. He drew his tongue over one of the Prince's nipples, leaving a slick trail around it, and blew a cool breath over the hot flesh. Thranduil whimpered and pressed against Glorfindel's body, bringing his hands up to stroke the Elda's sides. Once more, Glorfindel stopped his progress and shook his head. "Very well, ernilen."

Thranduil watched Glorfindel stand from the bed and walk to the wardrobe. His lover rummaged in the darkness of the drawers for a few moments before giving a cry of triumph before he closed the doors and returned to the bedside. Thranduil felt a tremor of anticipation course through him when he looked up into the dark eyes that now held a mischievous glint in them. "Glorfindel?" he asked the silent figure hovering above him.

"If you will not do as instructed, then I shall have to take more drastic measures." Before Thranduil could get a sound of protest from his mouth, Glorfindel had his hands bound securely to the headboard with a long silken sash from one of the Seneschal's robes. "There. Now you have no choice but to cooperate, pen-vaelui."

The Sinda tugged experimentally at his bonds and found that he could not pull free. His heart sped within his breast and his cock twitched at his helpless position. This was a new game Glorfindel was playing and Thranduil felt a pang of regret that they would not be reversing their roles anytime soon.

Glorfindel's brow furrowed and his mouth, so used to smiling, tipped down at the corners. "Thranduil? Do you not wish to play this game?"

"Nay, it is all right, pen-iaur," Thranduil assured. "I was just thinking of what the morning--" Glorfindel leaned in and thrust his tongue into Thranduil's open mouth, stifling his statement. Thranduil moaned into the assault and unconsciously tugged at the silk that held him in place.

Glorfindel withdrew from Thranduil's swollen lips and moved back down the lithe body of the archer. He did not know how long he could draw the moment out; his need to possess the golden Prince was setting his blood aflame even as it slowly consumed him. Glorfindel settled between Thranduil's parted thighs, removed the Prince's boots and slid Thranduil's leggings off. Once the Prince was bared completely to him, Glorfindel sighed and smiled lovingly down at the flushed, eager face of his lover before standing.

The Elda quickly divested himself of his formal robes and trousers, and stood before the prone body of his Prince. "Do you like what you see, ernilen?" he asked, stroking his own length with sure hands.

Thranduil shuddered visibly, his eyes at half-mast, as he watched the Seneschal pleasure himself. "Aye," he whispered raggedly. Thranduil licked his dry lips when he saw a bead of clear fluid form on the rosy tip of Glorfindel's cock.

Glorfindel smiled broadly as a particularly inventive position entered his mind. "You wish to taste me, pen-vaelui?" The only response Glorfindel received was a slight nod of the golden head. "Very well. But, first..." The Seneschal went back to his wardrobe and retrieved two more silk lengths of fabric. Thranduil's eyes went wide when his lover came to stand at the foot of the bed.

Thranduil swallowed visibly. "What are those for?" Thranduil did not think he could become any harder, his shaft leaking fluid freely with his unspent desire.

"Well," Glorfindel began as he wrapped one of the silk scarves around Thranduil's ankle. "I cannot have you bucking and kicking while I have my way with you." Glorfindel raised his eyes from his task and winked at the Prince. He made short work of restraining the Sinda's legs and stood back to admire his work. "What would your father say if he saw you now, pen-neth?" he asked, smirking while he crawled onto the bed, straddling the younger Elf's waist.

The Wood Elf grinned at the Elf-lord. "I'll be sure to ask him when I see him one week hence."

Glorfindel resumed stroking himself as he crept up Thranduil's body. "Though I do love listening to you speak, ernilen," he said, he voice hoarse with passion, "I can think of another way for me to... enjoy your sweet mouth."

Thranduil could feel the gentle brush of Glorfindel's mind against his, like someone drawing a feather along his skin. The Balrog-slayer had a fascinating ability to project his own thoughts as well as glean the Prince's when Thranduil permitted him. Thranduil had been shocked the first time it happened, but now he opened himself easily to his lover and instantly saw what Glorfindel desired of him. He lifted his head and the warrior slid a thick pillow behind it.

The Elf-lord kept the link between himself and the younger Elf open as he positioned himself across Thranduil's chest, bearing most of his weight on his knees. Glorfindel grasped the headboard with one hand and held his shaft in the other. His indigo eyes never left Thranduil's sage-colored orbs as he gradually fed his rigid arousal into the Sinda's open and willing mouth. Glorfindel let out a long groan as he thrust forward experimentally, keeping himself aware of Thranduil's thoughts as he took Thranduil's mouth.

The Prince took measured breaths, doing his best to relax his throat to accommodate Glorfindel's ample length. He tasted the salty essence of his lover and kept his eyes schooled on Glorfindel's features. Slowly, both Elves became accustomed to the position and to the depth Glorfindel could thrust. When Thranduil could take Glorfindel in completely, Thranduil watched Glorfindel close his eyes and lose himself in the pleasure of the moment.

Glorfindel tried to maintain a steady tempo, one that allowed Thranduil the comfort of a languid pace, but he could not keep his gentle momentum for long, and began to forcefully plunge into Thranduil's mouth. Thranduil's thoughts became a distant murmur in his mind, all concern for his young lover fleeing in the wake of his desire.

Thranduil clenched his hands, his arms straining at his bonds, and he fought the panic that threatened to ruin the experience for Glorfindel. He kept his thoughts calm and opened his jaw further, no longer trying to suck or lick the hard flesh that claimed his mouth so roughly with short, fast thrusts. The Sinda listened with growing arousal to the Elda's pants of delight. It did not take long before the Prince felt Glorfindel's cock swell, signaling the Elf-lord's imminent release.

Glorfindel gritted his teeth and looked down at his lover, slowing his pace and withdrawing almost completely from Thranduil's mouth. He lingered with the tip of his cock resting just inside the Sinda's lips and groaned deeply when Thranduil suckled the sensitive head. "Yes," he hissed, his eyes never leaving the archer's glistening lips as he slid back into the slick heat of the Elf-prince's mouth. He could feel his groin tighten and the tingling sensation begin; his body tensed as he made one last, long thrust. Glorfindel threw his head back and buried himself to the hilt, spilling his seed while Thranduil swallowed greedily.

Panting in his spent passion, Glorfindel slowly came back to himself and sensed Thranduil's discomfort through the mental link. He brought his gaze back down to the dark, glazed eyes of the younger Elf and smiled with satisfaction as he slid his sated member from Thranduil's bruised mouth. "That was lovely, ernilen," he said quietly, leaning down to kiss the last traces of his release from the Prince's lips. "Now, would you like relief from your..." He chuckled and looked over his shoulder to the dark, steadily weeping column of unrelieved need, "...condition?"

Thranduil could not speak, but nodded dumbly. His thoughts centered on the throbbing in his loins. He wanted to bury himself within the tight confines of Glorfindel's body and he sent the mental image to his lover. Over the years, they had settled into certain roles in their sexual relationship and Thranduil was happy to be on the receiving end of their lovemaking. There were times he or Glorfindel desired a reversal of those roles, and this last night he was to spend with his lover was one of those occasions.

Glorfindel's breath quickened slightly with the graphic imagery Thranduil sent to him, and he could not deny the Prince. He never could. The Seneschal reached into their bedside drawer and retrieved a phial of thick oil. "Is this what you want?" Glorfindel shifted his position so that he hovered above Thranduil's heated length. He did not wait for an answer, but removed the stopper from the phial and dripped the cool liquid over Thranduil's erection.

The Prince closed his eyes and let his head fall back, moaning loudly when Glorfindel's fingers finally made contact with his needy flesh. He could not stop himself from arching into the touch that was as light as a feather, using only enough pressure to lubricate his cock. Thranduil opened his eyes slightly when Glorfindel ceased touching him and watched with lustful eyes as the Elda prepared himself for Thranduil's girth. The Sinda trembled, watching as three fingers slid easily into the tight passage of Glorfindel's body and the Seneschal let out a sharp cry. "Please... Glorfindel..." he whimpered.

The Elf-lord chuckled and took pity on his neglected lover. He grasped Thranduil's length in his hand and lowered himself onto the thick shaft, taking a moment to adjust to the incredibly full feeling he always felt when he allowed Thranduil to have him.

Thranduil could not stay his hips and immediately tried to thrust up into the slippery channel, but soon realized that, with his legs bound as they were, he was at Glorfindel's utter mercy. The Prince was soon lost to Glorfindel's movement; the Elda shifted steadily atop of him, impaling himself again and again. Thranduil was being driven ever closer to his peak, and the Prince knew he had never felt so much love for a being as he did for the vision of beauty that mastered his body and heart like Glorfindel did.

When his orgasm overtook him, Thranduil cried Glorfindel's name. His release was intensified by the sight of the Elda's blue orbs watching him intently. He pumped himself into the pulsing passage, every muscle in his body tight and strained. Glorfindel leaned in and kissed his lover's closed eyes, whispering words of devotion and approval as Thranduil's body uncoiled and his breathing calmed from short staccato bursts to deep pants.

Thranduil did not know when Glorfindel untied his bonds, massaging the red marks left behind by the fabric. He came back to himself only when Glorfindel was dimming the lamps, slipping into bed beside the exhausted Prince. Thranduil pressed himself against the solid warmth of Glorfindel's body and rested his head on the Seneschal's shoulder. Long moments passed before either spoke.

"Melon le, Thranduil," Glorfindel murmured against the golden locks of Thranduil's head. "I think I have since the moment we first lay together."

The Wood Elf smiled broadly, snuggling closer to his lover, fighting the childish tears that formed in his eyes at the admission. "Melon le, bevae."

Glorfindel gently grabbed Thranduil's chin and forced the younger Elf to look at him. "I do not say such words lightly, melethen, and I have only said them once before. I wish to swear to you that I will be true to us; that I would have you for all time, if you so desire."

Thranduil's heart pounded and his ears rang. For a moment he forgot to breathe. He then brought his lips to Glorfindel's in a chaste kiss before answering his lover. "Aniron han, Glorfindel."

The End

English/Elvish:  
Ernilen : My Prince  
Pen-velui : Lovely one  
Pen-vaelui : Lustful one  
Pen-iaur : Ancient one  
Melon le, bevae. : I love you, too.  
Melethen : My love  
Aniron han. : I desire it.


End file.
